The Alchemist
by Phantomphaeton
Summary: The team struggles to pull themselves together after a tragic accident. Roy finds himself pulling together something even bigger. A story told in numbered days.
1. Chapter 1

_(410) _

"Diomine," Gemma recited to herself. "Iocane, basic carbon, nitric acid."

"What's that?" asked Roy quietly.

"The recipe," she said. "For the anti-toxin."

"Sounds complicated," he said.

"It is," she said. They were silent.

"I called you last night."

"I didn't know that."

"I left messages."

"My phone is in my purse."

"Which you left at my place."

"After you got to talking about my glitzy ass."

He sighed.

"Look, Gem—"

"We're on a mission," she said quietly.

"I know," Roy said. "But do you think—when we get back—can we just—you know—"

"Talk?" she suggested. He nodded.

"Yeah."

She sighed.

"Yeah," she said. "That'd be nice."

Roy smiled. For a second, he thought she might smile back, too, but then it vanished and she turned her attention back to the tunnel.

"There it is," Roy whispered, ushering forward. There, in a tall, suspended glass chamber, the small vial of crystal clear toxin stood waiting.

"Red Arrow, take out the guards," Kaldur said. Roy shot a single sleeping gas arrow at the ground by the glass chamber. The three guards hit the ground like dead flies.

"Let's go," Roy said, taking Gemma's hand and running inside.

"Do it now, Alchemist," Kaldur said, punching the glass chamber and taking the vial, handing it to her. "We'll cover you."

"Diomine," Gemma whispered as Roy readied an arrow and pointed it at the door. "Iocane. Basic carbon, nitric acid. It's done," she said. Roy looked at the vial. It was empty.

'_Teams A and B_,' Kaldur said. '_The toxin has been neutralized. Retreat to the ship immediately. Be ready to pick us up as soon as we've planted the bomb_.'

"Let's get out of here before Brick-Top figures it out," Roy said, leading the way to the door.

'_We're onboard the bio-ship_,' came Artemis's voice.

'_We're within range_,' came M'gann's voice. '_But we've triggered some kind of lockdown. Aqualad, get your team out of there before you're sealed in_!'

"Alchemist, arm the bomb," Kaldur said. Gemma took the bomb and stuck it to the chamber, punching in keys quickly.

Aqualad hurried out to the hallway. Red Arrow followed him quickly. They turned to look at Gemma, who was getting to her feet.

"Bomb's armed," she said, hurrying to the entrance. But she stopped abruptly, as though she had hit her head on some invisible surface. Roy reached forward to take her hand, but his hand would go no further beyond the doorframe.

"The lockdown," Kaldur said. Roy pulled out an arrow and aimed at the invisible door. Gemma shook her head.

"Don't bother," she said. "It's impenetrable. That's not plexiglass."

"What do we do?" Roy wondered. "That bomb has less than five minutes!"

"Don't worry," she said. "There's another tunnel out of here. You get back on the ship."

"Can you get out before the timer runs out?" Kaldur asked. Gemma nodded.

"For sure. You bring the ship around the East sector. I'll be waiting there for you. Hurry up."

"Got it," Roy said, and he and Kaldur hurried away.

The run back was difficult, to say the least. For one thing, they encountered two guards on their way, and for another, they took at least three wrong turns. When they finally boarded the ship, Kaldur told them, breathlessly, to hurry around to the East sector.

"Where's Gem-?" began M'gann.

"East sector, she's waiting for us. Hurry, before the bomb goes off!" Kaldur said as Roy caught his breath. M'gann turned the ship around quickly, speeding back in the other direction.

Wally tapped on the screen, where a line of green numbers popped up.

"Three minutes," he said quickly. "Hurry, M'gann."

"Going as fast as I can," she said.

"Two thirty six," Wally said after a few beats.

"Arriving at the East sector," M'gann said.

"This place is huge!" Robin choked.

"Look at the tunnels!" Kaldur said. "Do you see her?"

"Two minutes," said Wally.

"There she is!"

"No, it's not!"

"That's a guard!"

"Shoot him! Shoot him now!"

"You missed!"

"Fuck, I've got it!"

"Nice shot!"

"One minute twenty seconds!"

"Wally, shut up!"

"There she is!"

"That's not her!"

"That's another guard!"

"Rocket, seal him in!"

"I can't, Gem might come out through there!"

"Someone shoot him!"

"I got it!"

"What the hell is keeping her?"

"One minute!"

"WALLY, SHUT UP!"

'_Gemma, what is going on? There's a minute left_!'

Silence.

"M'gann?"

"She's still in range."

"Why isn't she answering?"

'_Gem? What's keeping you_?'

Silence.

'_GEMMA! WE BID YOU SPEAK THE FUCK UP!_'

'_Don't cuss at me, Wally, I'll castrate you_.'

'_Are you okay_?'

'_I'm fine. Just...caught in a tough spot_.'

'_You need help_?'

'_No, it's fine. I'm already out and on my way_.'

'_Thirty seconds, Gem. Thirty_.'

'_I'll be there_.'

'_Hurry up, Gem_.'

'_I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming_.'

'_At this rate, we'll never get out of range of the blast-zone_.'

'_It's okay, Rocket can set up a force-field to block out the damage as soon as Gem's onboard_.'

'_What's going on, Gem_?'

'_Hang on, I'm coming_.'

"Ten seconds," Wally said quickly.

'_Gem, hurry._' Roy thought.

'_It's okay, you guys. I'm coming_.'

"Eight seconds," Wally said again.

'_Gemma?_' Artemis called in quiet terror.

'_It's okay, it's okay_,' came Gemma's voice. And then a laugh. '_It's fine, you guys. I'm so close I can hear you freaking out. It'll be one of those "nick of time" things like in the movies. We'll laugh about it in a minute._'

'_Then hurry it up_,' Robin thought anxiously. '_So we can laugh_.'

"Five seconds," Wally said, his voice lowering.

'_Gemma, please_,' M'gann thought, fear dripping from her every word.

'_Calm down, M'gann. It's fine. It's gonna be okay_.'

"Three seconds," Wally almost whispered, crashing into his seat.

'_It's gonna be okay_,' Gemma thought. Another sweet laugh. _'It's gonna be okay_.'

'_Two seconds, Gemma_,' thought Kaldur.

'_I know. It's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay_.'

"One," Wally said. A pause.

'_You guys are gonna be okay_.'

A pop was heard in the distance. It escalated into a 'boom', and Rocket raised her hands, putting a field around the bio-ship.

Bass beats like a German nightclub seated right in front of the speakers. That's all Roy could hear. It seemed like it might disappear, but it never did. Not for a moment. Rocket kept the field up. M'gann kept her fingers on Rocket's ears, forcing the sound out of her head to keep the force-field up. Zatanna rushed to help Rocket strengthen the field. Through all of this, Roy could only hear one more thing.

'_Go home, you guys. You're gonna be okay_.'

And that, with a nervous, shaky laugh, was the last thing he heard before the last of the asteroid exploded, and the telepathic connection went dead.

It took forever, it seemed, for the sounds to die out. Roy couldn't even tell what sort of sound it was. It was just that. Sound. Sounds that made him clutch at his head. Sounds that made Wally grip his ears and slide to the floor as blood poured out between his fingers. Sounds that made Robin faint and Rocket almost lose control of the force field for a few moments.

And when the sounds were finally over, the silence that was waiting for them was even worse.

'_Gemma_?' Artemis called timidly. No answer.

_(23)_

"Your form is too loose," Roy told her in the gym as she practiced hitting a punching bag. "You keep hitting it like that, you'll dislocate your wrist. Here,"

And Roy aimed a punch at the bag that sent it flying back across the room, hitting the other wall with a thud. Red Tornado looked at it quietly, then returned to his reading '_Alice In Wonderland'_.

"I could never do that," Gemma said. "It's so...Artemis. And M'gann's lucky. With her powers she doesn't even need to touch things."

"Well, you need to learn this," Roy said. "Have a protein shake, put some meat on those bones."

Roy frowned at Gemma's petite, five foot one figure. She would need quite a few protein shakes.

"Meat," Gemma repeated, looking down at her flimsy arms. "Yeah. I guess."

"You've never punched a punching bag before, have you?" asked Roy.

"I've never even been in a gym before."

"You eat recklessly and you've never been in a gym. Why don't you have more rolls than a bakery?"

"I take yoga," Gemma said. "And ballet!" she added eagerly. "I take lots of ballet!"

"Well, ballet won't save you when you're facing someone like Sportsmaster or Rha's Al Goul," Roy said.

"Right. Sorry," Gemma said, her voice just a little bit lower. Roy frowned.

"Wait," he said. "Did you actually think that stuff would help?"

"I don't know," Gemma said shyly, fingering the fabric of the hem of her shirt. "I mean—doesn't that count as athletic?"

"Athletic? You call dancing athletic?" Roy asked, his brow rising. Gemma shrugged, shrinking away.

"I don't know," she said. "It might."

"It doesn't. It's dancing. Dancing and meditation won't help you out there, Cinderella. Shape up or ship out."

"Okay, Roy," Robin said loudly, dropping the dumbbell in his hand and coming forward. "I'll take it from here."

"You sure?" Roy asked.

"Positive. I can work with her. I think Connor might be having trouble with that new tackle. Black Canary's gonna be purple head to toe soon. Why don't you go spar with him a little?"

"Yeah, alright," Roy said, turning and walking out.

Halfway down the hall, he realized he left his water bottle back in the gym. He doubled back and picked it up off the rack.

"Why is he so mean to me?" Gemma's voice was asking quietly. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Nah," Robin assured her. "Roy's always been...a hard-ass."

"But he's so nice to everyone else. And he's so mean to me."

"He doesn't like newcomers. Change makes him uncomfortable. He's just...trying to get used to you. You should've seen him with Artemis. They made the Civil War look like an egg hunt."

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure. They were terrible. You should have seen it. You can still see it, if you squint."

A small giggle escaped Gemma's lips.

"He's got this tough love thing going. Don't worry. He'll warm up eventually. When he gets used to you. Now come on. I hear you take ballet."

"Yeah."

"Well, let's see what we can milk from that. Come on, show me what you can do."

"Okay," Gemma said brightly, and the grunts and Robin's counting was all he could hear.

Roy picked up his bottle and walked away.

The truth was that sometimes, he did wish he could be a sweeter type of person, like Wally or Robin. Sometimes, he wished he could convey kindness like Kaldur. But he only wished for that when Gemma was around.

_(410)_

If there was anything particularly astonishing about that night—more astonishing than what had just happened—it was how long it took to fill out a casualty report.

"Casualty report?" Batman had said over the radio, his voice filled with static. "For who?"

Kaldur had not responded immediately. Rather, he was staring out the window, almost dazed by the view.

"Aqualad? A casualty report for who?"

"The Alchemist," Kaldur said at last. "We've lost The Alchemist."

There had been a pause. "Preparing casualty report," Batman said at last before the radio went dead.

And there they were, seated in the gray room Roy knew existed in Mount Justice because he had seen it before but by God he just couldn't remember it clearly because the only thing he could clearly process right then was that he had to get back home to call up Gemma and tell her he was sorry for the stupid fight. He hadn't told her he was sorry.

"Roy?" Black Canary called gently. Roy's eyes darted up to her. Her own eyes were rimmed with red. A half empty box of tissues was on the desk. "Did you hear me?"

"I—no," he said, looking around. He hadn't even felt himself enter her office. Everything felt weird, mechanical. "Sorry," he added. She shook her head.

"It's fine."

"Could you repeat the question?"

"Just tell us what happened. We need it for the records."

"Right. I...I shot a bow at the door."

"Door?"

"The door. But it was locked. The door was locked. So I left. And now it's gone. That's what happened."

Black Canary looked up at Batman, her brows knit together in...worry?

"Roy," she said, leaning forward. "You're not making any sense. What door are you talking about?"

"The locked one. The locked door," he said. He sighed. "It wasn't Plexiglas."

"I think we should give this a few hours," Batman said. "They're all in shock, the reports will all be the same."

"Right," said Black Canary. "Ollie, can you make sure he gets home?"

"Yeah, I got him," Ollie said, taking Roy's forearm and tugging gently. "Come on, Roy. Let's get you home."

Roy got to his feet numbly. The door burst open.

"What's going on?" asked a familiar voice. "I got this call, and—hey, kids!"

It was Ethan. He paused at the sight of a weeping M'gann.

"What's the matter? What's going on?"

"Ethan," Black Canary said, sighing. "Maybe you should sit down."

"For what? What's going on?" he asked, looking around confusedly. "What happened?"

"Just...sit down. We'll talk about this," Barry said, his arms still wrapped around a sobbing Raquel.

"Why do I need to sit down?" Ethan asked. "And where's Gemma? I need to talk to her."

He craned his head around, his gray eyes darting all over the room, before they fell back on weeping M'gann and sobbing Raquel and Zatanna shaking in Zatara's arms and Wally seated beside Artemis, huffing in defeat and finally, his eyes fell on the sheet of paper on Black Canary's desktop and the words 'CASUALTY REPORT' in bold letters and at last, Ethan paused.

"Where is Gemma?" he asked again. "Where is she?"

"Ethan," Superman said, his hand on Robin's back. "Please."

Ethan's brows knit together. He looked around the room, his neck twisting as he took in every face, every detail, every speck of non-existent dust that was illuminated by the bright white light.

"Come on, Ethan," Ollie said. "Let's go inside. Let's talk."

Ethan shook his head, rubbing at his forehead. His eyes found Roy's, and Roy wondered if he looked as numb and confused as he felt right then.

"She's dead," he said quietly. "What do you want to talk about?"

Black Canary sighed. Ethan shrugged. It wasn't a careless shrug. His whole body seemed to slump with that shrug. '_What now_?' his body asked. And for a few seconds, Roy allowed his own being to take on Ethan's perspective, and ask the question again.

'_What now?_' indeed.

"What happened?" he asked.

"We should go somewhere else—" said Black Canary.

"It blew up," Artemis said, wiping a tear before it could reach her chin. Wally's head was on her lap. It seemed so familiar, so wrong to Roy, that all he could do was look away. "She wasn't quick enough."

Roy felt more than a few eyes on him as Artemis said this. People were watching him, waiting for him to snap and break someone's arm or assume fetal position and start crying. But he couldn't do it because his head was pounding and he felt sick and God, he was so, so tired.

"I'm going home," Roy said abruptly. Heads snapped in his direction. "I'm going." He said again, just in case they missed it. "It's late as shit and I'm tired and I can't feel my arms. I'm going home."

Ollie reached out. Roy shook it off.

"Leave me," Roy said. "I want to go home. I have to call someone."

He left the gray room and beelined for the zeta tube. No one stopped him.

The wall dividing the living room and the kitchen was still crystallized. His credit card was still suspended there inside. His TV was still on. A dark blue purse was on his couch. Burberry. He reached out and picked up his cell phone, dialing a number and holding the phone to his ear. Something in the blue purse began to vibrate, rocking the bag gently but audibly. Finally, it subsided.

"Hi," answered a voice after a few seconds. "You've reached Gemma. Leave a message."

Roy opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He wanted to say that he was tired, that his arms were numb and it was seven in the morning and his head hurt and he just wanted to sleep—or wake up—but he couldn't. So the timer ran out and the line went dead, and he just called again and got the voicemail again, and he did it over and over until at last, he fell asleep on the carpet.

For a moment or two before he finally went under, he kept thinking that the night before didn't happen. That the previous twenty four hours didn't happen. That it was all some strange dream and he was in Wonderland and he'd wake up to his ringing phone and who knew who'd be on the other end, telling him to haul ass to Mount Justice or meet him uptown or pick up his cousin from baseball practice. All he knew was that it wasn't real and that if he closed his eyes, he'd wake up and it'd all be over and he'd know it was a dream because his wall wouldn't have been crystallized. When he fell asleep, the wall was clear.

When he awoke, that was still the case.

_(65)_

"I don't hate nature," Gemma said. "I mean—I don't think I'd ever want to actually live out here full time, but it's not so bad."

Roy grunted. She had been paraphrasing those same words over and over since they split into teams. Six hours was enough, but any more of this, and he'd have to explain to Black Canary how his partner managed to fall off a cliff onto her head six times, and how her tongue managed to disappear during such a fall.

"You're not much of a camper," he noted.

"I tried once," she said. "With my dad. But he likes this stuff a lot more than I do."

"Survival skills are important," Roy said, at last completing the set-up of a campsite. "You need to be able to rely on yourself, not technology or processed food—to keep yourself alive in dangerous situations. Here. Fill up these canteens in that lake up ahead. Don't take too long."

"Are we seriously gonna drink murky lake water?" Gemma asked. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It is."

"So...do we have a bottle of iodine?"

"Nope. That's cheating. We're gonna boil it."

"I saw Wally sneak a bottle of iodine before we all split up."

"Then Wally's getting points off."

"Can't I just make my own water and fill the bottles with it? That's not cheating. I can just zap a little hydrogen and—"

"You still need to use lake water and boil it. For the sake of knowing."

"Alright," Gemma said, shrugging and taking the canteens. She jogged up over the rocks.

"Don't take too long," Roy called after her. "And don't light a flashlight. You might attract predators."

"Are there predators in these parts?" asked her voice timidly in the dark.

"Can't hurt to be careful."

He heard the footsteps fade away, and he sat beside the fire. She was a damn annoying child, but he couldn't help but feel guilty about thinking that. After what he had seen happen with Amelie five days earlier, his thoughts entered into a flux every time Gemma was near. He couldn't say she was inconsiderately stupid—no one could after that day. Before then, he had thought her a spoiled rotten princess, obsessed with looks and glitter and laughter because she lived in a world where everything was perfect all the time. Perhaps a few of those things may have been true—perhaps more than a few—but he had never seen anything that came close to what he had seen her do.

"Got the bottles," said her voice quickly, eagerly, as she jogged back towards the light of the campfire. "Roy, come here. You have to see this!"

"What?"

"Just come! Come on, come look!"

"What did you do?"

"Nothing, I swear!" Gemma promised as Roy got to his feet, letting her tug him by the arm like a child up the rocky hill.

"Did you see another team? Because we're not supposed to pick fights with—"

"Sh! You'll scare them away!" Gemma whispered.

"Scare who away?" Roy whispered back.

"Scare _them_ away!" Gemma said, pointing at the bank of the lake. Roy narrowed his eyes.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Gemma huffed quietly in exasperation.

"Come closer. Look!" she slid her hand into his and pulled him closer to the bank.

"I still don't see it," Roy said flatly.

"You're not looking," Gemma said.

"I don't even know what it is I'm supposed to see," Roy said. "Where am I supposed to look?"

"All around you, _duh_!" Gemma whispered excitedly.

That was when he saw it. Right beside her left ear. A brief glow, and then it vanished. Another, a few inches above her head. Another on her shoulder. All around the dark, the tiny dots glowed and vanished, glowed and vanished, never enough to illuminate the area completely, but enough to be seen.

"Fireflies?" he asked skeptically. "You brought me out here to see fireflies?"

"Look how pretty they are!" she said adoringly, watching the lights reflect on the water. She sighed like a twelve year old during New Moon.

"Yeah, it's a sight," Roy said.

"And look up there!" she whispered, pointing upward. Roy followed her finger up to a glorious, star-filled midnight blue sky.

"It's...it's..." Roy wasn't sure what to say, or if she would hear him right then. All he knew was that it would be nice—very nice—to lay back and watch the fireflies glow across the sky for a while.

"It's beautiful," Gemma breathed, and Roy snapped to attention and found that he had indeed taken a seat by the water. Gemma was huddled into a tiny ball beside him, dividing her attention between the glow of the fireflies and the scattered stars in the sky.

"It is," he said quietly.

"I wish I could sparkle like that," she said, looking at the stars above.

It only just dawned on Roy that her hand was still in his. He looked down at them. Their skin glowed ivory in the moonlight. A firefly danced by their fingers. Her hand was so small in his—her palm couldn't cover his four fingers. He could feel the skin of her palm—soft as velvet—against his own bow-calloused one. He studied the smooth surface of the skin on the back of her hand, his eyes tracing her arm, her shoulder, her collarbone, her jaw, her face, her pretty little face, with her dark hair pulled up into a glossy ponytail and her eyes wide as saucers as they took everything in.

"This is what you wanted to show me?" he asked.

"This_, and_," she said, pointing ahead. "I found Wally and Artemis."

Roy followed her finger across the water, where he could see a tiny light glowing in the distance—a firelight.

"How do you know it's Wally and Artemis?" he asked.

"I think they've gone to sleep, but they were yelling before," she said.

"That's Robin and Kaldur's side of the forest," Roy said. "I feel kinda bad for them."

"Me, too," Gemma whispered. And Roy kept his hand in hers, giving the brilliant night sky and fireflies his attention, and they drifted off right there by the water, campsite forgotten.

The next morning, Black Canary gave them full marks on the survival exercise. Robin and Kaldur got full marks as well. Connor and M'gann got half marks because they hadn't really learned much besides how to make out against a tree, and Wally and Artemis were bruised from head to toe, so they not only got points deducted, but actually got placed on probation.

Gemma never mentioned that night by the water. Roy was always secretly glad that she didn't. But he noticed that from that day forward, her skin always shimmered like a wall of diamonds covered with a sheet of silk—like a star filled night.

And from that day forward, Roy kept on forgetting that he didn't like her, he didn't like her, he didn't like her.

_(412)_

Amelie had shrieked when they told her.

"_Ma Cherie soeur_!" she had sobbed. "_Mon ange soeur_!"

And every single word they had tried to say only made her sob harder, until she was inconsolable and breaking things and kicking walls and M'gann finally calmed her down enough to stop destroying the mountain but she still cried like a newborn infant covered in its mothers fluids. Everyone was surrounding her, touching some part of her, comforting her because they knew what Gemma meant to her but for some strange reason Roy couldn't bring himself to move from the doorway. His eyes kept darting between the group of them huddled around her like a bunch of bear cubs in a winter cave and Red Tornado, who was cleaning up the damaged furniture without pause.

At home alone that night, he kept on seeing that scene again. Amelie's tear stained face, her twister of destruction in the living room, M'gann stroking her hair. It kept coming back in pieces, like broken glass, all fitting into place to form a crudely pulled together picture. The only thing that made sense to him was the destruction. Why hadn't he tried that?

He got to his feet and socked the crystal wall. Nothing happened. Hmph. He forgot it wouldn't work on this wall. He tried again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Blurry splotches of white wall, of black furniture, of the cars in the street below just outside the window, of Cat Graham on TV talking about the nutritional value of whogaveashit. And for the life of him, Roy couldn't bring himself to stop, because he was so, so tired no matter how much he slept and he couldn't feel his arms and his head wouldn't stop aching and maybe, if he kept whacking at that wall, the cure would become clear to him but it didn't. So he kept on whacking until the crunch of his fingers forced him to stop because his blood was all over the crystal and he still couldn't feel a thing. He couldn't feel the need to destroy his apartment screaming words in French but at least the girl who had destroyed a living room while screaming words in French could feel her arms and wasn't so tired and didn't have a headache and things made sense to her.

And for just a moment, he would have given anything in the world to be Amelie.

_(89)_

"...as many as seventeen inches of rainfall expected in the south near Florida. New England can count on being hit hard by thunderstorms tonight and maybe up til Thursday..."

Roy switched off the TV. Connor seemed perfectly content to stare at the blank screen. Wolf rubbed his head against the sofa.

"This blows!" Wally yelled from the kitchen, his mouth stuffed with Oreos. "I have to go to the mall!"

"What's at the mall?" asked Robin, seated cross-legged on the kitchen counter, watching Kaldur scoop cookie dough onto a sheet. He chewed on a few chocolate chips. "You hate the mall."

"I have to buy a Valentine's Day present," Wally said.

"For who?" asked Roy.

"For Artemis?" Robin asked quickly. "Should the scoops be this big?" he asked Kaldur. Kaldur snuck another glance at the cookbook and shrugged.

"Jumbo cookies are nice, too," he said.

"No," Wally said. "Just...for someone."

"You're a shit liar. It's for Artemis," Roy said.

"What are you gonna buy her?" asked Robin.

"It's not for her."

"What are you buying, then?"

"Those glass figurine sets."

"She'll throw them at you."

"Get her a new bow," suggested Connor.

"She'll use it to shoot me. I'm not giving her a weapon."

"Buy her a dress," Robin said. "Girls like clothes. No matter how tomboy they are. Girls like clothes."

"I wonder what her size is..." Wally said, his brows furrowing.

"So it _is_ for Artemis?" Roy asked. "Because if it is, then I think she's a size 4."

"She's a size 2," Robin said. "Positive."

"Why would she be a size 2?" Connor asked.

"The girls trade clothes all the time," Robin said. "If Artemis and Gemma can both fit into the same dress—you remember that blue one?—and Gemma is a size 2, then Artemis is a size 2."

"How do you know Gemma's dress size?" asked Kaldur.

"I'm always in her room," Robin said, shrugging. "I know everybody's size."

"Buy her a green dress," Connor said. "With pockets. She'll like pockets."

"Why pockets? Should I put something in the pockets?" Wally asked.

"I don't know," Connor said. "I just think Artemis would be a lot happier with a dress that has pockets because then she wouldn't have to lug a bag around. Why? Do people usually give dresses with things in the pockets?"

"What the hell would you put in the pockets?" asked Robin. Wally shrugged.

"Condoms? I don't know," he answered. "This is too complicated. I think I'll just get her the figurines and pray she doesn't throw them at me."

"I'd get her the condoms," Connor said, chuckling. Roy snorted.

"Flavored ones. They send the right message."

"Yeah," said Wally. "Telling her exactly what part of me to chop off. I'm not suicidal."

'_It's always a good time..._' trilled a little voice as Gemma danced into the kitchen. She was raising the volume on her iPod, completely unaware of the sudden quiet that overtook the room.

"Hey, Gem," Wally called.

"Uh huh?" she replied, her eyes on the fridge as she fished through its contents.

"What do girls like to get for Valentine's Day?"

"Chocolate," she said, her eyes still on the fridge. "Every girl is different, but usually chocolate is the safest bet. Artemis likes caramel turtles."

"Who said anything about Artemis?" Wally asked. Gemma blinked at him, a bottle of Hershey's Milkshake halfway to her mouth.

"Well, who else did you have in mind?" she asked.

Wally paused.

"Caramel turtles. And lilies. She likes lilies."

She turned and hurried away, singing quietly as she went.

"What's her dress size?" Wally called.

"Two!" she answered from down the hall. "She's got her eye on a green dress that just popped up at New York & Company. I can order it and say it's from you!"

"Please do!" Wally said. As soon as her footsteps disappeared, he turned back to them. "I'm gonna get Gem something, too. She's molten sugar."

Artemis' dress arrived the next morning via FedEx priority shipping. It had pockets.

"Condoms," Connor sang into Wally's ear as Kaldur stuck his fist into one of the pockets, trying to determine how deep they were.

"Perhaps a small purse might fit in here?" Kaldur said. "Or a wallet?"

"A chunky mirror, too," Robin said, sticking his hand into the other pocket. "Or maybe a pocket-watch."

"Why don't you just not put things in the pockets?" asked Roy.

"Can I do that?" asked Wally.

"Does your Dad stick things into the pockets of your Mom's dresses?" Roy asked.

"My Dad doesn't buy my Mom dresses with pockets!"

"Well, I've never bought a girl a dress with pockets before!" Roy said. "And even if I did, I'm pretty sure you're not obligated to fill them up!"

"These pockets are huge! How can I not fill them up?"

"Why don't you just write a note?" Roy asked. They all paused.

"A note?" Connor asked. "Seriously?"

"I think I'd have more luck with a little purse," Wally said. "Like those little ones old ladies stick their coins in. My cousin uses them. I think they might be coming back into style."

"What are you idiots doing?"

They all paused, turning to the door. Artemis stood, arms crossed, by the doorframe. Gemma stood beside her, a plastic spoon dangling from her mouth. They watched the boys confusedly, with each one of them fingering some part of the dress, and a few of them with hands disappearing into the pockets.

Roy blinked, and Wally was standing in front of her, holding the dress up.

"Happy Val—Friendship Day!" he sang.

"Friendship Day?" Artemis repeated, a brow cocked. She snuck a glance at Gemma, who shrugged.

"I've heard it called weirder names," Gemma said. "My Dad used to call it Singles' Awareness Day."

Robin snorted.

"This is...pretty," Artemis said. "I can wear it to the wedding."

"At least you get to choose a color," Gemma said, huffing. "I'm stuck with pastel peach."

"What wedding?" asked Wally.

"Gemma's dad is engaged," Artemis said. Robin perked up.

"Ethan's getting married?"

Gemma nodded, a sour look on her face. "Yep," she said.

"To who?"

"A centerfold," Gemma answered instantly. Connor choked on his juice.

"A magazine editor," Artemis said, rolling her eyes. "She's nice."

"You talking about Meredith?" asked Raquel as she popped into view. "She's awesome! She's letting us raid the Vogue inventory for her wedding!"

"Except Gemma, of course," Artemis said, putting on a fake pout. "She's stuck wearing pastel peach."

"Oh," said Zatanna, popping her head in. "That's a really nice dress."

"Wally got it for her," Gemma said, swallowing another spoon of god knows what that stuff was. "As a Valentine's Day present."

"Aww!"

"It's not—it's a Friendship Day—"

But Raquel and Zatanna were already yanking Artemis by the hand, pulling her out of the room to show M'gann the dress. Gemma stayed behind.

"I'm gonna go find some liquor to spike this with," Gemma said, and Roy realized she was eating noodle soup. She turned around, but paused. "Why did you guys have your hands in the pockets?"

"We were wondering what we could fit into them," Robin answered quickly. Her dark brows knit together in confusion.

"Why didn't you just write a note?" Gemma asked. Wally sighed.

"I don't know, Gemma," he said, collapsing onto the couch. "I really don't know."

Gemma shrugged and walked off. Within moments, Roy could hear her shriek of excitement join the other's down the hall.

"If she has a Dad," Roy said to Robin. "Then why does she stay here?"

"She doesn't always stay here," Robin said. "Just when the fiancé is at her house. She really doesn't want a step-mom. Her Dad's never been with anyone before."

"She's not worried about the fact that her Dad could hit retirement soon and still be single?"

"Dude, her Dad is miles from retirement," Robin said. "She's a teen's baby. Her dad was still in high school when she was born. He's not even close to forty yet."

"How old was Ethan when he had her?"

"Like...fifteen, I think. Something really young."

Roy frowned. Her father would have to be thirty one, then. Being raised by a teenager that wasn't even out of high school isn't the kind of childhood Roy had imagined for her. He imagined a penthouse on Fifth Avenue, a silver spoon between her teeth, a hair appointment twice a week. So perhaps he was wrong about the Daddy's Little Princess thing.

_(418)_

"Roy, it's Ollie. You're not answering your cell, I'm assuming you lost it. If I don't hear from you in the next hour, I'm coming over there."

Roy sighed, picking up his cell phone and dialing Ollie's number.

"I got your message...es," Roy said quietly.

"Where have you been, Roy?" Ollie's voice asked.

"I headed back to the Reservation," he lied. "Checked up on some old friends. Guess I needed something familiar."

Ollie sighed. "How is everyone back there?"

"Not too bad. Better than we are, anyways. Have you talked to Ethan lately?"

"I'm on my way to his house. Dinah and I are trying to convince him to have a funeral."

"Why? There's nothing to bury," Roy said.

"I know, but...my cousin did something like this once. There wasn't a body, so they just buried memorabilia."

"That's not the same," Roy said grimly.

"I know it's not. But it's closure. Which Ethan could really use right now."

"How's he holding up?" Roy asked.

"Meredith says he's doing pretty good, considering."

"Which means...?"

"Which means he's a train-wreck," Ollie said. "But he's putting on a good front."

"Everyone seems to be. Have you seen Amelie lately?"

"Oh, God, that poor girl. She breaks down every time someone mentions it."

"She needs a funeral."

"Maybe," Ollie agreed distantly. There was a pause and Roy inhaled sharply because he knew what was coming next.

"How are you, Roy?" Ollie asked.

"Fine," Roy said. "Just...fine."

"Where are you? Cause I know you're not at home."

"I'm out," Roy said. "Coffee run."

"You know, Red Tornado was talking about emptying her room out."

"Shouldn't Ethan be the judge of that?"

"No, her room at Mount Justice. Bringing her things to Ethan's place in Chicago."

"Again: Ethan should be the judge of that."

"Ethan's backing him up. He thinks everyone should get a chance to go in and claim something of hers to keep. A memory."

"That's nice of Ethan."

"No one's gone in yet."

"Well, why are you telling me, then?" Roy asked.

"Because everyone's too shocked to do it," Ollie said.

"So?"

"So I figured you must not have heard about it or else you would have gone in by now," Ollie said.

"I'm not going in there."

"You don't have to take anything. Just...make it look like you did, will you? Set an example for the kids."

"Some example," Roy said. "I'm inviting them to paw through my dead girlfriend's junk—"

"Ethan needs this, Roy. He can't even bury her. He needs to know she'll be...remembered."

Roy heaved a sigh. "I can be there...later."

"Thank you, Roy."

"Yeah, yeah,"

"And Roy?"

"What?"

"Eat something. You sound like shit."

And the line went dead. Roy tossed the phone onto the couch. It hit the dark blue purse, the one he hadn't touched in eight days, and the purse tipped over, all of its contents spilling onto the cushion. Roy paused, looking at all of the items. A compact mirror—with a glitter cover. A tube of cherry chap-stick. A small brush. A wallet. A pen. A cell phone. A tiny bottle of perfume. A small white tissue, folded gently. Roy squinted at the tissue, reaching over and picking it up. A number was scrawled along the edge in blue.

_254-7910_

Who's number was this? Who would Gemma have called if she were still there? What would she be doing if she were there right then? Roy placed the tissue back into the bag, followed by the mirror, the chap-stick, the wallet, the pen, the perfume, and finally, the phone. She had fourteen messages. All of them, of course, his. She had one text message. It arrived two days earlier. But Roy hadn't texted her. Who was it, then, that didn't know yet? Who had Ethan or the League or the team forgotten to tell that Gemma was gone forever?

Whoever they were, Roy would have to call them back and let them know she had passed. He hit enter.

The screen was locked. She had a five digit pin number.

'E-T-H-A-N,' he typed. Wrong. Four tries left.

'G-E-M-M-A,' he typed. Wrong. Three tries left.

'S-T-O-N-E,' he typed. Wrong. Two tries left.

Quit while he's ahead, he'd always say. He dropped the phone into his pocket and picked up his jacket, hurrying off to the kitchen.

When had it gotten so cold in his apartment? His fingers played with the thermostat blankly. The tips of his fingers touched the cold screen of the cell phone in his right pocket. He would have to stop by Ethan's apartment in Chicago and return the phone to him sometime soon. Perhaps he could hold onto the bag, though.

He had been in Gemma's room before—both her Mount Justice room and her actual room back in Chicago. He would have to say, he liked the Mount Justice room better. Her room in Chicago had a floor to ceiling wall of glass—courtesy of her power—that afforded her a brilliant view of the city. But everything in the room was so sparkly. Everything was diamond. Her Mount Justice room was much calmer. White sheets and concrete, a layer of glass and bamboo to make a waterfall in the corner, a wall of floor to ceiling glass granting her a view of the Atlantic. The only color in that room was the green of the bamboo and the granny smith apples in the bowl on the glass coffee table. And even though the whole idea of him going in there was a thorn in his side, he had to admit, he'd like to be in there again.

A buzzing in his pocket jerked his thoughts away from her room and to his right hand as he unearthed Gemma's phone. He frowned, looking down at the still locked screen. '_254-7910_' was calling. This person was the one who had texted her, then, because how many people could Ethan and the league possibly forgotten to have told? Roy half considered picking up and telling the person himself, but with the phone locked, that was impossible. He waited for the fourth, fifth, sixth ring to pass before the buzzing subsided before pocketing the phone and continuing in the direction of the kitchen.

He had barely made it down the hall when the phone began buzzing again. '_254-7910_'. He huffed, waiting for the buzzing to stop. When it did, he pulled out his own cell phone, dialing the number quickly and listening for the ring.

"Bering," answered a male voice on the second ring.

"Hey," said Roy. "You've been calling my friend's phone off the hook lately, and—"

"Who are you?" asked Bering apprehensively.

"I'm...a friend of hers," Roy said. "And I'm just calling to explain why she hasn't been picking up."

"No, no, no, no, no," said Bering. "I think you've got the wrong number. "I haven't been calling."

"Um...no," said Roy. "You have been calling, because her phone has Caller ID. I dialed the number and you picked up."

"No, it's the wrong number," Bering said. "Sorry, pal."

"Wait—"

The other line went dead. Roy looked at the phone in his hand, his brow furrowing in confusion.


	2. Chapter 2

_(60)_

When they first found Amelie, she was always covering the left half of her face with her hair. Roy had seen her three or four times, and she had always been covering her face.

"An experiment gone wrong," Flash had explained after they first met her. "It's this scar. It's kinda big, covers a lot of her face. She's really self-conscious about it."

Roy knew not to ever look at it or mention it in front of her. She was strong—and resourceful—and they needed to stay on her good side. Or at least stay off her bad side. She could have been important to the League one day, an asset they'd rather have with them than against them. So no one ever looked at the scar when they spoke to her. No one ever mentioned it in case she should overhear. No one brought it up. It was a silent taboo. Prominent, but never spoken of.

Of course, that all flew out the window when Gemma met her. Amelie watched Gemma prance into the room, wide-eyed and broody. If Roy ever pitied anyone, it was Amelie in that moment. There she was, hiding half of her face behind a mane of hair to conceal a scar that would haunt her for the rest of her days, and in walked Gemma, beauty on two short legs, spinning clumsily into the kitchen with M'gann and pulling out the brown sugar for a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Gemma looked like everything Amelie could never be—pretty.

"Who are you?" she called, spotting Amelie seated on the far couch.

"That's Amelie," M'gann said. "She's our new liaison."

"A new liaison?" Gemma said excitedly, clapping her hands and blowing a kiss. "Come over here! We're making cookies! You like cookies, Amelie?"

Amelie responded with a shrug.

"Well I'll bet you like cookie dough! Everyone does. Come on over! You can mix the dough!"

Amelie shuffled over awkwardly, her big, clumsy hands sifting flour and spooning out vanilla and pouring oil with the guidance of Gemma's pretty, tiny ones.

"You have the prettiest hair," Gemma said, eyeing Amelie's mane of black. Amelie grunted in response.

"She does," M'gann said. "It's so shiny. Rocket wants to rip it off her head."

"I'm with Rocket," Gemma said. "You might want to sleep with an eye open. Speaking of eyes open, how can you see with only one? Does the other one not work? Is that why you cover it up?"

A pause. Roy rubbed his eyes frustratedly. Gemma was sweet, he'd admit, but she was the sort of stupid kid that would ask a handicap man why he was handicapped. No tact whatsoever.

"She likes wearing it that way," M'gann dodged quickly. "It frames her face nicely."

"No, it doesn't," Gemma said. "This does. Here, move that hair out of the way—"

And Roy gaped as Gemma leaned forward and pushed the bangs out of Amelie's face, exposing a hideous twist of red lines that kept her left half in a perpetual scowl. Roy instinctively winced—it wasn't pretty. He knew it wasn't pretty, but he hadn't expected it to be that unattractive. It was horrifying.

Wally had been the only one to see a small glimpse of it beforehand, and even he sat frozen at the breakfast bar, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth, watching. Even Robin couldn't come up with something to lighten the mood. Roy sat back and counted the seconds, waiting for Gemma to collect herself, push the hair back into place, and quietly agree with M'gann—agree that this style framed her face quite nicely and what was she thinking? of course it made her jaw look better! and finally drift into silence as they continued making cookies. But of course, since she was Gemma Stone and that always meant disappointment, she only eyed the scars interestedly, her hand still holding the curtain of hair out of the way as she looked at Amelie's disfigured face from all angles, as if searching for the right light.

"Hm..." she thought, biting her lip. "How about this?"

And she reached up to her own hair and pulled a bobby pin out, letting the brown cascade fall loose from its messy bun, and she pinned the tresses out of Amelie's face, leaving the scars in full view.

"This look frames your face better," Gemma said. "Draws more attention to your cheekbones. I live next door to a beautician, I'd know."

Amelie stayed silent.

"See? Look how pretty you are now! It's so much easier to talk to you now that I can see your whole face!"

Amelie blinked. Gemma reached forward and handed her the wooden spoon.

"Cute as a button! Stir this, Amelie. I'll get the chocolate chips from the pantry. Back in a sec."

And Gemma hurried off, whistling Camp Town Ladies as she went, and left them all in silence.

For a few moments, no one moved. Roy could imagine M'gann's mind working into overdrive, trying to apologize as she pulled the bobby pin out of Amelie's hair. He could imagine Wally dropping the ice cream spoon and sputtering out a list of mental disorders Gemma suffered from. He could imagine Connor and Kaldur, looking away as if they hadn't seen any scar, as if the scene wasn't unfolding right in front of them, as if none of it was real. But before any of them could do anything, a small hiccup escaped Amelie's lips.

"Amelie, I'm so sorry about her—" M'gann began, but Amelie waved her off and continued stirring the batter.

When Gemma came back with a bag full of chocolate chips, she was still whistling. No one mentioned it, although Roy personally thought someone should have scolded her.

"_You don't just do that to people!_" Roy thought someone should have said. "_You don't unveil scars just because you think it'd frame their faces better! Where the hell is your natural tact, woman?_"

"I didn't always look like this," Amelie said quietly. Gemma, who had been distracted with the chocolate chips, paused and looked up at her.

"Neither did I," she said simply, shrugging.

And Gemma continued whistling, and asked M'gann how high to set the temperature for the oven, and no one spoke for the next hour.

When Amelie showed up the next day, Roy noticed that her hair was pinned out of her face, and her scars seemed less noticeable because for once she wasn't trying to hide them, and he could see on her face that she'd been crying the entire night, but not because she was ashamed. And it was then that Roy realized—that all of them realized—that scolding Gemma on tact was impossible, because she had done more than expose a scar that day in the kitchen. And Roy came to understand that perhaps Gemma's abilities didn't simply end with chemical alterations. Because Amelie never covered her face again after that day, and Roy realized it must have been because Gemma had never asked her about the scars, never looked at it like it was any more significant than what belonged on a face, like a nose or a brow or a freckle.

Gemma never mentioned the situation to anyone. As far as she cared, Amelie had no scars.

"She's the prettiest French girl I've ever seen," Gemma would say. "Like these ballerinas that came to Chicago from Paris on tour. I got their autographs. I wonder if they'll come back..."

And then she'd change the subject, and no one would ask again.

Amelie became a trainee later that month. Roy knew that it was her saving grace, that angel of a girl who had pushed her hair aside in the kitchen once upon a time, that girl who had embraced that scar when no one else would, who had helped her overcome it instead of hide from it, who had taught Amelie to accept herself, that had been the driving force behind Amelie's decision to join the team.

"_Ma Cherie soeur_," Amelie would call her affectionately. "_Mon ange soeur_."

My darling sister, my angel sister.

_(419)_

Halfway to Mount Justice the day before, Roy nearly collapsed from exhaustion and doubled back to his apartment, where he spent the next twelve hours somewhere between wake and sleep.

"The perks of insomnia," he told Ollie when he arrived at Mount Justice. "You're never really awake, but you're never really asleep."

"You should really take something for that," Ollie said.

"Like opium? Can I take opium?"

"Whatever gets you to sleep, Roy. This isn't healthy."

"I know," Roy said quietly. The approaching footsteps caused them both to look up.

"Roy!" Robin said, smiling and hurrying towards him. "Haven't seen you in forever!"

It had only been nine days, but Roy suddenly felt as though he hadn't seen Robin in years, either.

"I'm here to raid Gem's room," Roy said flatly. "Since someone clearly has to be the brave one around here and none of you are up to the task."

Robin's smile disappeared.

"You all know where I'll be," Roy said, walking off down the hall before anyone could say any more.

Gemma's room was the same. With a drizzle picking up outside, the droplets pattered gently on the glass wall, contorting the view of the gray sky above and the waters below. Her hair brush still had two of three strands of dark brown caught in the bristles. A gray cardigan was tossed casually onto the bed. The sheets were carefully smoothed out, just the way she always left them. It made something in Roy's stomach lurch uncomfortably, because for a moment, he thought that perhaps the door would open and she'd be standing there behind him.

"Hey, you!" she'd say sweetly. "When'd you get back?"

"Just now," he'd have said. "I missed you."

"You look awful," she'd have noticed as she pulled off her scarf and tossed it onto the pouf by the vanity. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Properly? A week ago, I think. A little over a week."

"A week?" she'd have asked, frowning at him. She would have clicked her tongue. Or would she have rolled her eyes? No, no, she'd have clicked her tongue. "Come on, Macho Man. Even superheroes need their sleep."

And she'd push him onto her bed, lay his head onto her lap, and run her fingers through his hair until he was out like a light. He'd stare at the floor, or the sheets, or the waterfall, or the window, while she hummed a Katy Perry song because that's the last sort of song anyone could ever fall asleep to, but she'd pull it off anyways because she was magical and she could do anything, goddamn it.

It wasn't until Roy smelled the scent of pear shampoo that he realized his head had found her pillow. He looked around him. Her sheets smelled of peaches. Her cardigan was made of such soft fabric. It slipped through his fingers like he was touching water. He ran his hand over the fabric and sighed, rolling onto his stomach. His head was nearly hanging off the edge of the bed, affording him a front row view of the bamboo floor. He paused. Tucked between the wood bedframe and the mattress, Roy saw what distinctly looked like pages. He reached down and touched his index finger to it. Pages. Definitely. But why?

He snaked his fingers around it and pulled it out gently. In his hand was a small, leather bound book. Unlike everything else she owned, there were no sparkles on this one. No embellishments or tubs worth of craft glitter decorating the cover. Just black leather. Was it a diary, then? No, he had seen what her diary looked like. It was like a fashion show, all glitter and sequins and little jewels, tiny colored feathers and gel-pen drawings. He skimmed the pages thoughtlessly. No gel-pen ink in there. Only black and the occasional blue. Each page had calendars. So this was her planner.

Roy flipped backwards, looking for the first marked page. '_10 P.M_.' was scrawled hastily across the page, covering all seven days of the week. He turned the page. A dentist appointment. Next page. A fitting for a gown for Ethan's wedding. Next page. Ballet practice. Next page. Training exercise—with him. Next page.

Roy paused.

'_Particle studies—Andrew Bering_' was scrawled into the uppermost corner, right between M'gann's birthday and a hair-trimming.

Roy sat up, staring at the letters. Gemma's hand, definitely. The curve and twist, the way she dotted her 'i's with little circles instead of dots like everyone else, there was no mistaking her Walt Disney handwriting. Roy pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and opened up the browser. He punched the words '_Andrew Bering_' into the search bar and hit enter. The screen went blank before the results appeared.

'Castor, Debenham, Frasier, Leigh, **Bering**, Lucas accept the McCall-Schuster Award...'

'Frasier, Debenham, **Bering**, Lucas accept the Nobel Prize for pioneering genetic...'

'...presenting alongside fellow STAR lab scientist **Andrew Bering **the newly christened Project Greengrass, a chemical experiment that may alter the course of the steel processing industry...'

Andrew Bering was a STAR lab scientist. Why did Gemma have a STAR lab scientist in her contacts list? He pressed one of the links and eyed the pictures on the sites. Andrew Bering was a tall, lanky, awkward looking man of about forty. Surely if Gemma wanted to cheat on Roy, she'd have done it with someone a bit more..._more_?

'_Stop it,_' he hissed at himself. '_Don't think of her like that. Thinking the worst of her is what got her so mad in the first place._'

His next thought was that he should apologize to her the next time he saw her, but then he realized that he would not see her, that he would never see her, and he leaned back onto her pillow again.

The next page of her journal was empty. So was the next. The third one mentioned a check-up with a skin doctor—he vaguely remembered her encounter with a poison ivy bush less than a month ago. The fourth one was empty. The fifth one wasn't.

'_Warehouse—get soil from Bering_.'

What warehouse was she referring to? The one where they battled Brick-Top? The one where she found the traces of soil that ultimately led them to his base of operations? That soil hadn't gone to Bering—she had taken it from the warehouse straight to Kaldur. Why would she want it to go to Bering anyways? The analysts within the League were just as good as any STAR lab scientists. So why bother?

Roy looked back down at the page, half expecting the answer to emerge from the paper. What he found instead was even more puzzling. The date at the top of the page read September 16. They hadn't battled Brick-Top at the warehouse until mid-October...hadn't they? Roy thought back, scratching his head. Yes, yes, it had to have been mid-October. Wally had been talking about getting his Halloween costume ready. So Gemma had been holding onto the soil for about two or three weeks before she finally handed it in? Is that what Roy was expected to understand?

Could it have been possible that she had fabricated the evidence before sending it to Kaldur? But then how would she have known where to find Brick-Top in the first place? How would she have known what type of soil to create to lead them to the asteroid?

It suddenly occurred to Roy that they had not encountered Brick-Top on the asteroid nine days ago.

Had she made the whole thing up? Had she asked Bering to help her create the soil to lead the team on a wild goose chase? Why would she want to do that? Roy could remember the last time someone had planted fake evidence—Artemis. Was that it, then? Was Gemma insecure? Was she trying to lure them in another direction so she could take down Brick-Top herself? Why would she want to do that? No one on the team had threatened her. Roy could imagine all the people Gemma had on her side—Amelie and himself, to name a few—waiting to pounce on anyone who tried to do so much as look at her threateningly.

So why go to all the trouble?

_(78)_

"I've never been to a party as The Alchemist before," Gemma said excitedly. M'gann smiled.

"It's better than normal," she assured Gemma. "People are way nicer. I like the name."

"Do you really?" Gemma asked, her huge eyes seeming even huger. "Because I've been playing around with it, and lately it's been sounding kinda tacky."

"Can you turn lead to gold?" M'gann asked. Gemma nodded. "Then it fits. Perfectly."

Gemma smiled at her. Roy's eyes travelled over her super-suit. It wasn't practical, he'd say that much, and only because he was desperately searching for something about her to criticize. It was solid black. It glittered from the waist up. Her mask glittered. She was like a walking black disco ball. The only parts of her that were exposed were the lower half of her face and her pale fingers. Those pale fingers were running through her high ponytail uncertainly.

"Stop fidgeting," Roy said. "People need to see you as confident so they can feel confident in you."

"Right," she squeaked, nodding and taking a deep breath. "Sorry."

And she continued to take deep, concentrated breaths in and out until Roy could use them to keep time as they stood out of sight in Washington, D.C., waiting for Mayor Rutherford to finish his congratulatory speech and welcome them into view.

The top of her suit glittered more in the sunlight. Roy internally frowned. She would have to get rid of that. Enemies would see her coming from miles away, even in the dark. He felt his internal frown fade slightly when his eyes caught the shimmer of her skin, when he noticed the wild applause from the watching crowd as people took her in. She waved demurely, her cheeks taking on a pretty pink hue as she blew a kiss into the crowd. At least twenty pairs of hands reached up to catch it, as if it were a tangible thing.

People must have thought it was a very good joke, this tiny little thing that probably couldn't tip the scale at one hundred pounds if she was wearing bricks around her waist standing there on the stage, waving at them all as a new member of the Junior League. Roy certainly would have thought so. But no one seemed to care how little or delicate she looked. No one seemed to care that she still couldn't punch a punching bag properly, that she couldn't land a kick to save her life, that all of her offense was defense.

"She's agile and fast," Robin said, shrugging. "If she can dodge, then she can wear enemies out before they can hurt her. That's a pretty good offense."

"That's not enough to make the team," Roy had said back.

"She's redesigned half of our arsenal," Kaldur said. "You don't have to fight to stand for Justice. You just have to contribute."

Though that defense was a thorn in his side, Roy stayed quiet and watched as the world welcomed its newest member.

Roy and Batman refused to call the event following the ceremony a party, but in all honesty that's exactly what it was. At least that's how Wally told it.

"There's food, there's girls, there's music," he said. "It's a party."

Granted, it was a very boring party, but it was the thought that counted. Gemma had Wally's head on her lap, and she was dropping pieces of candy into his mouth. The sight of this upset Roy, which was not surprising because his mind had been betraying him often lately and he kept forgetting that he didn't like Gemma Stone.

"Here they are!" said Donnie Train as he approached. Roy grunted. He didn't like Donnie Train. The guy looked half like a rooster. Something about it just made him difficult to speak with.

"Mayor Rutherford," Donnie was saying, "of course you've already met Kid Flash. There's Rocket, and Artemis, and Speedy, who I'm sure you also know—"

"I don't go by Speedy anymore," Roy growled. Donnie blinked at him.

"Of course!" Donnie said, smacking his head. "My mistake. Red Arrow. It's just so hard to shake that off. Old habits and all that."

"Of course," Roy said bitterly. Suddenly, he liked Donnie Train a lot less.

"And I'm sure, Artemis, that I've introduced you to Senator Kearney before?"

"To be honest," said a tall, plump man in his sixties as he straightened his tie. "I like the junior team a lot better than the League. You have a better sense of humor."

"I'm telling Batman you said that," Robin sang. Senator Kearney shook his head vigorously.

"Hell, no, kid," he said. "He'll slaughter me in my bed!"

"Senator," Donnie Train said, ushering to Gemma. "The newest teammate, the Alchemist."

"A pleasure to meet you, sweetheart," Kearney said, shaking Gemma's hand and smiling at her. "So you can turn lead into gold, right?"

"Yep," Gemma said, nodding.

"Can you make my water fountain spit fruit punch?" he asked. "Cause then you'd be my new favorite."

Gemma giggled. Kearney seemed to Roy like one of those men that either exerted himself to set others at ease for the hell of it or for the hell of looking good for the press. One or the other, Gemma was relaxing, and for some reason that comforted Roy.

Senator Kearney kept Gemma occupied for the rest of the night, and although Roy still didn't think she was at that stage where she should be talking to politicians—she couldn't even punch a bag—he was happy for her.

_(421)_

"Don't get many journalists round here," said the old, crusty janitor as he fiddled with his million and one keys. "You must be coming around for that fight. One superhero dusts his shoulder here, and bam! We've got newspapers through the roof coming around to take pictures and see if one is gonna come back. Which one did you say you were with?"

"The Central City Tribune," Roy lied. The janitor shrugged.

"They're all the same to me now, I guess," he said, pulling up the enormous door to reveal the wide, empty space. "Here it is. Couple of supers fought off some big guy here about a month and a half ago."

"Were you here the night of the fight?"

"Hell, no. I had the night off."

"What was going on here before the fight?"

"Nothing, really. It's a storage house. People pay to leave things here they can't fit anywhere else."

"Did anyone ever stop by asking for things specifically?" Roy asked. "Did anyone ever come around to take a look?"

"Well...yeah, there was a girl," the janitor said. "Small thing."

"Was she a journalist?" Roy asked. He shook his head.

"Nah. Said she was a lawyer's assistant. Looked kinda young, but she had the papers, so I showed her right in."

"You have the keys for every storage house?"

"Yep. Comes with the job."

"What did she look for?"

"Well, when she came around, the place was all covered with sheets. I thought she'd be looking underneath them."

"Did she?"

"Nah. I didn't ask about it. Customer confidentiality and all that. She wasn't too interested in them, anyways."

"What was she looking for?"

"Something on the ground. Like one of those CSI people, you know? Like if someone spits on the ground or wipes sweat off their brow. She was looking at the ground."

"And?"

"And she was here for like a half hour. Shaking like a maraca, half scared to death."

"Scared?" asked Roy. "Of what?"

"No clue," said the janitor, shrugging as Roy peeked around the warehouse. It was as empty as the night they were last in it, the night they had fought Brick-Top inside of it. "She looked like the wounded bird type, you know? Real tiny girl. She found what she was looking for, and she left."

"Just like that?" Roy asked. "Were you there with her the whole time?"

"Yep. Had to supervise."

"She didn't talk about anything or ask you any questions?"

"Nope. She just scooped some crap up in two of those glass things and left."

Roy frowned, looking around the empty area. "Where did she find the stuff?"

"I think...over there, that corner," the janitor pointed ahead to the farthest corner. "Of course, when she came by, there was a huge sheet covering something. She collected the crap and left, took her glass things with her."

"And she said nothing?" Roy asked. That didn't fit. Gemma was a talker. Especially when she was scared.

"Well, no, she talked," he said. "Just not about what she was doing or looking for. She talked about the ducks in Central Park. New York, you know? I think she was trying to calm herself. Some people do that. My sister used to do that. And she was scooping the stuff up—I think it was dirt, with how close I saw it—and then she got to talking about how the ducks sometimes fly out to—"

"You got close enough to see the stuff she was scooping up?" Roy asked.

"Well, sure," said the janitor, running his hands through his white hair. "She asked me to hold a glass thing while she filled another."

"Another?" Roy asked. "She filled two?"

"Yep."

"And you're sure it was dirt inside?" asked Roy. Please, dear God and whoever else was listening, don't let Gemma have given Kaldur false evidence.

"Yeah, sure," the guy said. "Or it was a dark, dusty something. Looked like dirt. Wasn't really paying attention." The man snorted. "Not even sure how she managed to get that much of it off of one measly footprint."

"Footprint? She came looking for a footprint?"

"Well, I'm not sure if it was what she was looking for, but it was what she found," he said. "I mean, I think she was looking for the dirt from the beginning, but she just didn't know where to look. She scraped the dirt off the ground right there where you're standing with a Swiss Army knife. Had gloves and everything, knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingers were shaking like naked turkey. I don't think she's really used to the job."

"And then she just left?"

"Yep. Took both bottles and bolted."

"And when was this?"

"About...two or three weeks before them supers got here."

Roy sighed. "Thanks for your time," he said, heading for the door.

"Hey, kid!" the man called. Roy turned.

"Yeah?"

"If you've got the time, get yourself some sleep. I swear, you kids these days..."

"Roy smiled. "I'll get right on that."

"And give that girl some medicine. Don't they have things for people her age? Anti-depressants or something?"

"Yeah, I'll let her know," Roy said grimly. "Thanks."

"No problem," the man said.

Roy walked along the sidewalk with his hands buried deep into his pockets. The tips of his fingers touched the cold screen of his cell phone. He was itching to call Andrew Bering again, but he knew it was useless. The man would just continue to deny anything.

As he slipped into his car, his phone began to buzz.

"Heaven," he answered glumly, sliding the keys into the ignition. "You've reached God."

"M'gann and Artemis went into her room," Ollie's voice said.

"Did they?" Roy asked uninterestedly, pulling out onto the street.

"Yep. I told you going in there would set the right example."

"What did they take?"

"Trinkets, I think. It's a start."

"You think they're gonna go back in and take some of the valuables?"

"I hope they do," Ollie said. "Cause Ethan doesn't want it. You know she liked to experiment."

Oh, did Roy know. Gemma had turned an empty perfume bottle into a ruby the size of an orange to pay for a car for Wally's sixteenth birthday. Her closet must have been chuck-full of precious stones the size of potatoes.

"Is Ethan any better?"

"Yep. That's why I'm calling."

"He agreed to do the funeral thing?"

"Nah," Ollie said. "He agreed with you. Pointless if there's no body to bury. He's gonna have a memorial instead."

"A memorial?"

"Yep. Tomorrow at Mount Justice. Dinah and I pulled together a bunch of videos Gemma made. All of it's like an hour and a half or something. Come see it."

"Uh, huh," Roy said distractedly, braking at a red light.

"Where are you now? I tried your home phone."

"Central City," Roy said.

"What the hell's in Central City?" asked Ollie.

"Hey, Ollie, do you remember when Gemma found the dirt at that warehouse? After the fight with Brick-Top?"

"After that fight, the only thing I remember was the blood coming out of my shoulder," Ollie said flatly.

"But you remember when she said she found it, right?" Roy asked.

"Yeah," Ollie said. "She must have scooped it up while the rest of us were coming to."

"'Must have'? You didn't see her?"

"Nah. Everyone was bleeding out of somewhere, Roy. She scooped it up nice and quick, had it in a vial by the time she got onto the bio-ship. Why do you ask?"

"Ollie," Roy said. "Do you know where STAR labs does its particle studies?"

"Why the hell would you want to know something like that?" asked Ollie. "Boy, how long have you been awake?"

"Do you know?" Roy asked again.

"Well, they've got a branch in Santa Monica—but I think particle studies would be in...Metropolis?"

"Thanks," Roy said.

"Roy, wait, what the hell is this abou—"

Roy pressed 'end' and tossed the phone onto the passenger's seat, where it landed right beside Gemma's planner. He pulled over beside a coffee shop and picked it up, flipping through the pages until he found the one with Andrew Bering's name. Tucked into the page was the tissue he had found in her bag, with Bering's number scribbled across it. He sighed, picking up his cell phone and dialing the number.

"Bering," answered the voice on the third ring.

"We need to talk," said Roy.

"Oh, god, not you again. Look, I really don't know—"

"Your name is Andrew Bering," Roy said. "You're a chemist working for STAR Lab's Metropolis branch. Your name is all over Gemma Stone's planner. I've got the right guy."

He heard a deep sigh. "Look, man I don't want any trouble."

"I just want to know what you did to the soil," Roy asked. "She gave you soil, didn't she? She asked you to replace it or add something to make it look different?"

"I—look, I'd rather not talk about this on the phone. Or at work. Can we meet?"

"Where?"

"There's...are you in the city?"

"Yeah."

"There's a pizzeria on Hickney Street. Tino's. Know the place?"

"Yeah," Roy said.

"I can be there at one thirty tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting," Roy said, hanging up.

_(83)_

"What if it only rains because the clouds are crying because they're tired of getting poked in the stomach by the birds?" Robin asked. Artemis snatched his brownie away from him.

"No," she said, looking at it from all angles. "No, no, no. You did _not_ put pot in the brownies."

"Yeah, we did," Wally said, taking another bite out of a brownie, his upper lip covered in fudgy icing.

"It's no use," Gemma said. "They're all stoned. Except Kaldur and Roy."

"I told you they smelled strange," Kaldur said pointedly to Robin, who was floating across the room, spinning on one foot.

"Hey, Gem, look at me!" Robin said. "I can do ballet, too!"

"Where'd you find the pot?" asked Zatanna.

"Some shady guy in an alley sold it to us," Wally said, taking another bite.

"Okay, you're not allowed to make the brownies anymore," M'gann said. Connor looked around awkwardly.

"Well, it's not like there's anything better to do," he said, gesturing to the windows. "It's been pouring without a break for weeks!"

"How did you pay for all of it?" Rocket asked, opening the enormous zip-lock bag on the kitchen counter and taking a whiff. She and Zatanna recoiled instantly.

"Nabbed a rock from Gem's room," Wally said, licking icing off his finger and biting into another brownie.

"I think I can reach it," Robin said, biting his tongue as he stood on his tip-toes and reached for the ceiling light that was at least fourteen feet above his head.

"I've convinced my Dad that the rain is a bad omen," Gemma said, watching Robin reach in vain for the evasive ceiling light. "Maybe if I'm lucky, he'll cancel the wedding."

"She's not that bad, you know," M'gann said.

"The part of you that's talking to me is the part that's still reeling from the Vogue inventory," Gemma said pointedly. M'gann shrugged.

"Why not reel?" she asked. "That inventory was awesome."

"How long until the big day, anyways?" asked Wally, watching Robin spin lazily around the living room.

"Three weeks," Gemma said. Roy couldn't say she looked miserable, but he had never seen her look unhappy before. This was as close as he'd ever get.

"You can't seriously think it'll still be raining in three weeks," Connor said flatly.

"I don't care how long it rains," Gemma said. "So much as I care how hard it rains. If I'm lucky, then the venue will be flooded and they'll have to at least postpone it."

"You're evil," said Artemis. "Meredith is cool. Ethan's happy with her."

Gemma rolled her eyes, popping a Milk Dud into her mouth and sliding off of her chair. Roy watched her disappear down the hall, then got to his feet and went after her.

She was still cramming Milk Duds into her mouth as she stared at the 1200 gallon aquarium that Kaldur had installed into the hallway to accommodate the poisonous jellyfish that he had gotten as a gift from Atlantis.

"He's so pretty," Gemma said, watching the enormous white figure float by idly. "Wally named him Waldo."

"Didn't Meredith get you a job with that photographer?" Roy asked quietly as he plopped onto the seat beside her. She raised a brow at him.

"Yeah," she said. "To get on Dad's good side."

"I think I get it," Roy said. "Sixteen years, you've been the only constant girl in his life. You don't want to be upstaged."

"I'm not worried about being upstaged," Gemma said. "I'm just worried about being upstaged by _her_."

"What's wrong with her?" Roy asked. "I've met her. She's nice."

"She looks like...she looks like my mom," Gemma said, looking around her and making sure no one could hear before she whispered. "It's just...weird."

"Does your mom know her?"

"No. They haven't met yet."

"Does she know _of_ her?"

"If she does, then she hasn't heard from me. We don't really talk much since she moved."

"Where does she live?"

"In Paris with her boyfriend. I can't remember his name. I still see her sometimes."

"How often is sometimes?"

"Maybe once or twice a year, I guess."

"You know Meredith isn't your mom."

"I know, I know," Gemma said. "She just...she really looks like her. Mom was the cheerleader and he was the popular guy on the football team. Kinda like it is now, with him and Meredith...just in an older sense, I guess."

Gemma sighed. It was a small, wispy sigh, but it clicked in Roy's head that Gemma's hatred of Meredith might not have stemmed from her jealousy or fear of being upstaged. It might well have stemmed from guilt. He could scarcely imagine it, being born to a pair of fifteen year olds with absolutely no plan. She was the unknown variable that they never saw coming, the one that they didn't want at first and more likely than not must have considered aborting at least once or twice. She was what people would call a blip. A mistake. An accident. A very unwanted, very uninvited accident. At sixteen, all she had was a young father and a mother that fled while she still could, searching for the life that got away from her. Could Gemma possibly have been worried that Ethan was in pursuit of the same thing? Marrying the girl that so reminded him of her mother—of the high school cheerleader with a million dollar smile and all the world at her fingertips—to try and lock down on the life he should have lived?

"You know he doesn't see it like that," Roy said.

"She left," Gemma said. "And he stayed. Counts for something."

"He didn't plan you," Roy said. "But I know he doesn't ever regret you."

"I know," Gemma said, though a part of her seemed uncertain.

"Hey," Roy said, nudging her. "Look how rich you've made him. How could he ever regret you? You're his cash cow."

Gemma giggled at this. It stirred something within Roy to see her smile and know that it was him and not Robin and not Wally and not Captain Marvel that made her do it. This smile wasn't anyone else's. It was _his_. Completely and entirely _his_. And it occurred to Roy that making her smile might just have been his new favorite pastime, because she was giggling harder and her ponytail was shaking and she was smiling up at Roy and God, she was so pretty.

"I am a cash cow," she said. "I have the Midas touch—literally."

"And the Midas touch needs to get her suit water-proofed," said Black Canary's voice as she walked towards them. "Because the Midas touch is going to Senator Kearney's luncheon tomorrow regardless of how hard it rains."

"Senator Kearney invited her to a luncheon?" asked Roy.

"He's really nice," Gemma said, skipping off.

Roy liked the warm smile she gave him before she left. It wasn't like the smile she gave Black Canary. It was the smile she gave a friend. And after months of getting nothing but hurt looks from her, he realized that Robin and the others had it made for all that time, because it felt a lot like flying, being smiled at by her.

"Roy," Black Canary said quietly, once she was sure that Gemma was gone. "Go with her."

"Huh?"

"I get you might be busy. I'd have sent Aqualad, but he's due in Atlantis. Amelie and Artemis are busy, and I can't trust anyone else."

"What for?"

"You could use some time off," she said, shrugging. Her hair caught the light, glowing eerily.

"As Red Arrow? How is that time off?"

"Senator Kearney is a bit of a creeper," she said simply. "Gemma might get uncomfortable there by herself with him."

Roy grunted. "Yeah, I'll go."

Black Canary smiled knowingly, and Roy suddenly got the feeling that Senator Kearney might not have been a creeper, and that might not have been why she suggested he go at all. But before he could elaborate on it, she was gone, leaving him alone in the hall with Waldo.

_(422)_

"I don't usually do things like this," said a skinny, tall, awkward looking man as he slid into the seat opposite Roy. "I mean _ever_."

"First time for everything, I guess," Roy said. The man sighed. "You've been trying to reach a friend of mine."

"Yeah. Yeah, I was," Bering said, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. His free hand rested on the tabletop, fingers drumming. Nervous. Afraid. Very afraid.

"She gave you soil, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

"What did she want you to replace it with? What did she ask you to add to it?"

"Nothing," Bering said. "She didn't make me add anything."

"Then what? She wanted you to ID it?"

"Well, no," Bering said. "She wanted me to remove something from it."

"Remove? Remove what? You said it was dirt."

"It was. But there was something in it that she wanted me to erase."

"What was it?"

"Particles," Bering said, running his hands through his hair. Very nervous. "I'm not sure why, but she wanted them gone."

"Particles of what?"

"I don't know, something weird. I didn't ask questions, I just did it."

"You just took a sample from a stranger and did as you were told?"

"It was hard to argue with her," Bering said. "She...she had something on me."

"What? An affair?" Roy rolled his eyes. The look on Bering's face, however, made him stop short. "Seriously? This girl blackmailed you?"

"She had photographs, okay?" Bering said. Roy shook his head, perplexed.

"No, look," Roy pulled out his cell phone and opened his photo gallery to a picture of Gemma. He held it up to Bering's face. "This girl right here. This is the girl you're talking about?"

"Yeah. Except she was blonde when I met her," Bering said. Roy huffed.

"And you have no clue what she wanted you to get rid of?"

"Not really, no. She was really specific. Already knew half of what she was doing. She told me to put it under a microscope, then eliminate all of the particles that contained traces of a certain substance, and then let her know when I was done."

"That makes no sense," Roy thought out loud, frowning. "Why wouldn't she just do that herself? She knew how."

Bering shrugged. "It took me weeks to do it," he said. "And the vial wasn't even that big. She probably didn't have the time. Places to be, people to see, you know?"

"Appearances to keep up," Roy mumbled under his breath. He paused. "Wait...vial? She gave you one vial?"

"Yeah."

"She didn't have another?"

"No. She showed up at my office with one vial. Didn't have much in it."

"And when was this?"

"About...a month and a half ago. Roughly."

"What happened after you finished?"

"I called her and told her it was done. She came and picked it up. The next day, there was a hundred thousand dollars in my account that wasn't there before," Bering was shaking from head to toe by then, rubbing his hands together to calm himself. "Look, I don't want any trouble."

"Then why were you calling her two days ago?" Roy asked.

"She still has the pictures," Bering said. "I thought she'd have given them back by now. I wanted to make a deal with her, that she could take back her money if she'd just give me the pictures. But I haven't been able to get a hold of her. I've tried her cell phone, but she's not answering, and I'm really freaked out she'll give the pictures to my wife anyways—"

"Don't worry about that," Roy said. "That's not her kinda thing. You did your part, she'll do hers."

Bering sighed in relief. His hands were still shaking.

"Did she ever ask you for anything else?" Roy asked.

"Yeah," Bering said. "When she came around to pick up the dirt. She asked me about security vaults."

"Vaults? Why?"

"I have no clue," Bering said, shaking his head as he sipped his Cola. "She just wanted to know what kind of security we use on sensitive materials at STAR. We keep a lot of dangerous materials, you know. She wanted to know how to get in touch with our manufacturer."

"Did you tell her how?"

"I didn't know who manufactures our security systems. I'm just mix the stuff inside."

"Did she ever talk to you again after that?"

"No."

Roy sighed. "Thanks, buddy," he said, tossing a twenty onto the table and getting up to leave.

"Hey look, if you see her, could you tell her to give me the pictures?" Bering asked. "Or at least get rid of them?"

Roy shrugged. "Sure, sure," he said, walking out of the pizzeria. His phone began to buzz in his pocket.

'_Where r u_?' the screen read. '_Memorial in 15._'

'_Sit tight_,' he wrote back as he slid into the driver's seat and closed the door behind him. He lunged for the planner in the passenger's seat.

He told himself he wouldn't look at it again. He told himself he didn't need to, that once he spoke to Bering and lifted the clouds of misunderstanding at last, he'd be completely free of ever having to question her again. But he had finally spoken to Bering, and what he learned only made him more confused. He flipped through the pages until he reached the last one he had seen. '_Warehouse—get soil from Bering_.'

Was it possible that whatever particle Gemma had Bering remove from the soil could have implicated her? She had been inside the warehouse before, but not as a hero. Was it her own footprint she had scraped the soil from? If she only had Bering remove particles from the soil, then the soil itself did indeed come from the asteroid.

'_It's part of her power to detect a change in mass_,' Roy thought. '_That's why she knew her way around it so well. She could feel the hollows where the oxygen filled up space instead of the rock, and that's how she knew where the tunnels were_.'

Roy turned the page. Empty. Next page. Empty. Next page. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty.

Next page. '_PineCORP Int.—records?_'

Roy's brows furrowed. He pulled out his phone, punching '_PineCORP Int._' into the search bar.

'signs a deal with **PineCORP International** in Geneva later today, allowing millions of...'

'meeting with representatives of **PineCORP International **with hopes of...

'accompanied by Senator Kearney, Carl Feldman of **PineCORP International** met with Israeli Prime Minister...'

"Roy? Where the hell are you?" asked Ollie's voice.

"We need to talk," Roy said. "I think I'm gonna jump off a cliff and we really need to talk."

_(84)_

"This house is so...big," Gemma said, looking around and playing with the sparkly black sleeve of her costume. "I don't think I like it very much."

"It's a summer house," Roy said, adjusting his mask and glaring at a photographer that hovered nearby, silently daring him to take a picture.

"Fashionably late, are we?" chuckled Senator Kearney as he approached them.

Roy had never seen him in anything but prim and pristine suits, but he had to admit that he liked to see the man in a simple sweater for a change. It made him look like less of a predator politician and more of a human being.

"Sorry," Gemma squeaked. Kearney beamed at her.

"No trouble. We've got a few others who got stuck on the wrong side of a congested highway, so we'll be starting a little late. You haven't missed a thing."

"You have a really pretty house," Gemma said, looking around at the foyer again.

"Thanks. Here, let me show you around," Kearney suggested.

Gemma smiled at him, slipping her tiny hand into Kearney's beefy one and allowing him to lead her off. She looked back at Roy, holding out her other hand. Roy spared Kearney a dark glance before he followed along quietly. He could hear the footsteps of at least four or five journalists and photographers following them down the hall.

"This is the blue room," Kearney said. "Princess Beatrice of Caledonia stayed here for three weeks when she came around in the fifties. She loved it so much that she had her parlor back in Caledonia remodeled to look like it. She even sent a portrait to the original owner. That's it, right there."

Roy followed Kearney's finger to a painting above the fireplace of a rather unattractive woman.

"Who was she?" Gemma asked, stepping closer to the painting.

"That was Princess Beatrice's ancestor, Queen Melinda Argonaut," Kearney said. "The painting is the only one of her that still survived all these years."

"How old is it?" asked a journalist, notepad at the ready.

"About five hundred years old," Kearney said proudly. "Came with the house."

A few chuckles from the media. Roy rolled his eyes as Gemma eyed the ugly painting in wonder.

"She's so lucky," Gemma whispered.

"Every girl dreams of being a queen," Kearney said. Gemma shook her head.

"Not that," she said. "It's just...I'll never look that pretty when _I'm_ five hundred."

A roar of affectionate laughter from the press. Roy rolled his eyes as a lovely peach colored her cheeks and Kearney patted her hand gently.

"I wouldn't worry too much, sweetheart," Kearney promised. Gemma pointed to something over his shoulder.

"What's that?" she asked. Roy followed her finger to the far corner of the room. He smiled.

"That," he said. "Is a very rare fern. One of two on the hemisphere right now, if I remember correctly."

"Only two?" Gemma asked, eyeing the black and blue leaves.

"Yep. Beauty, ain't it?" he asked.

"It is. Is this a present from the princess, too?" Gemma asked.

"Nah. A gift from some corporate friends. You like it? It grows natively in the forests of Paligua. It's called the Magdala Fern."

"It's so...pretty," Gemma said, fingering the leaves gently.

Another flash nearly blinded Roy. He glared at the photographer, who was preoccupied with adjusting the setting of his camera, trying to get the best shot. Senator Kearney began talking about the history of the room at large, snagging the attention of the journalists. Roy didn't sense Gemma inching towards him until the tiny sequins of her sleeve scratched his arm.

"That fern is so weird," Gemma said. "It scratched me. Look,"

And she held up her index finger. A tiny red line was visible, alive against the pale color of her skin.

"That's what you get for touching it," Roy said.

"I don't like it here," Gemma said, looking up at Roy. Her smile was gone.

"Neither do I. It's creepy. I don't care how much remodeling he's done."

"No, I mean, I _really _don't like it," she said. "It's such a weird place. It's so...big, you know? And empty. And he's such a weird man. I don't like the way he talks to me."

"Stay close, then," Roy said. "Sometimes crap like this is part of the job."

And Gemma did stay close, Roy noticed. And he realized that she must have been truly uncomfortable around Kearney, because she clung to Roy's arm like a snake on a branch for the rest of the afternoon, and from that point onward until they finally left, she smiled the sort of smiles he'd only seen before on children when he intercepted them from dark alleys with strangers and volunteered to take them home just in case they ran into any more trouble. Safe. She smiled like she felt safe, and that made Roy smile too.


	3. Chapter 3

_(422)_

When Roy walked into the living room at Mount Justice, the lights were all out but he could still see the thousand pictures of Gemma decorating the walls and he knew right off the bat that his head would explode right then if he didn't leave.

"Nick of time," Ollie said, handing him a beer. "Cut it a little closer, why don't ya?"

"Sorry," Roy said stiffly, accepting the beer and looking around the room.

The screen was barely lit, and he could see a few faces in the dim light. Artemis, curled up on the couch. M'gann had her head on Raquel's lap. Wally, nursing an enormous bottle of Nesquik chocolate milk. Connor, a leg propped up. Kaldur, who nodded briefly in Roy's direction. Robin was huddled into a tiny ball in the corner of the L shaped sofa, disappearing into the cushions. Black Canary sat beside him, running her fingers through his hair. Beside her sat a gorgeous blonde woman Roy recognized as Meredith, Gemma's step-mother. Beside Meredith sat Ethan, and Roy could tell this simply by looking at his slumped shoulders and bowed head. He glanced up when the screen lit up at last.

"It'll fit, won't it?" asked a voice. Roy winced. Surround sound. He knew that voice anywhere.

"It should," answered M'gann's voice.

"Is that camera recording?" asked Zatanna's voice.

"Nah," Raquel's voice said. "Lens cap."

"Good," Zatanna said.

And then there was a subtle shifting sound, and the black screen was finally gone, revealing the very living room they were standing in. But there were no pictures of Gemma all over the walls. There were no people dressed in black. There was no awkward stillness hanging in the air with such strong presence Roy could taste it on his tongue.

Artemis was staring into the lens of the camera with a mischievous grin, pushing the camera out of sight and backing away to reveal Zatanna dressed in a full blown hot dog suit.

Robin barked out laughing from his spot on the couch. Real Zatanna glared at him.

"You look ridiculous," Wally said.

"I do not recall this instance," Zatanna said.

"It's on camera," Connor said flatly.

"It didn't happen," she said again.

"But it—"

"No," she said flatly.

"Why am I doing this?" TV Zatanna was asking.

"Because it's for a good cause," Gemma said. "Hotdogs for the helpless."

"Can't we just sell cupcakes instead?" Zatanna asked.

"No," Gemma said. "Because cupcakes are considered a luxury and people might be dieting. A barbecue is way more profitable. We'll put a real dent in child hunger this year."

Zatanna huffed. Artemis snickered.

"Look on the bright side, Zee," Artemis said. "At least you'll be wearing a face mask. No one will ever know."

"I hate this," Zatanna said.

"It's for a good cause," Gemma said.

The screen went black for a moment. When it cleared again, Gemma was standing behind a table on the sidewalk with a box of cookies, a box of cupcakes, and a box of brownies on it. A little boy was standing in front of her. Her shirt was pink. The plastic sheet covering the table said 'Breast Cancer Awareness' on it.

"I want a cupcake," the boy said, holding out two one dollar bills.

"Four small ones or two big ones?" Gemma asked him.

"One big one," he said.

"Then you can just give me one dollar," she said, and he handed her one dollar. She extended a cupcake to him. "You sure you only want one?"

"I—no, I want two," he said, and she handed him another cupcake. "Wait...one."

"Okay," she said, putting the other one back in the box.

"No, two," the boy said, shaking his head. Gemma smiled and handed him the other one.

The screen went black again. It cleared and Gemma was seated on the kitchen countertop. Artemis' foot was on her lap, and she held a pair of tweezers in her hand.

"What the hell happened to you?" asked Connor, opening the fridge and pulling out a Red Bull.

"Artemis stepped on a cactus," Gemma said.

"Where'd you find a cactus?" asked Connor.

"My Mom's collection," Artemis said. "She dropped one and I stepped on it."

"Ouch," Connor said, craning his neck to get a good look at her injured foot.

"Can you pass the rubbing alcohol?" Gemma asked. Connor reached into one of the cabinets and handed her the brown bottle.

"Wally's been trying to plan a bachelor party for Ethan," Robin said as he popped into view.

"What's the point of bachelor parties anyways?' Artemis asked, wincing as Gemma tugged at a spike.

"It's a funeral," Robin said. "The send-off as a man abandons his single days."

"Ow," Artemis winced as Gemma pulled out a spike with particular ferocity.

"My dad's giving up so much more than his single days," she said darkly.

"There's a storm rolling in," Robin said, looking out the window.

"It won't last long," Connor said. "They never do in New England."

"Nothing ever happens in New England," Artemis said.

Gemma paused. "We should have a Lost Weekend," she said.

"What's a Lost Weekend?" asked Robin.

"A really bad idea," Artemis promised him.

"What's a Lost Weekend?" Robin asked again.

"It's where you gather a bunch of teenagers and repeat Woodstock," Gemma said.

"You wanna get stoned with friends? Here we are," Connor said.

"I don't wanna get stoned," Gemma said. "I just want for something to happen here. We should make something happen. We should have a Lost Weekend."

"We are not having a Lost Weekend," Artemis said.

Gemma rolled her eyes, plucking at another spike.

The screen went black again. It cleared, and Gemma was on the floor in her bedroom—back in Chicago—and photographs were scattered all around her.

"What're you doing, Gem?" Ethan asked, setting the camcorder down on the nightstand and appearing beside her.

"Picking a picture," she replied.

"What for?"

"For the séance."

"Séance?"

"Séance."

"What séance?"

"The one I'm having tomorrow."

"Why are you having a séance tomorrow?"

"To appease the spirits of Mount Justice."

"Why would you want to do that? Wait—there are spirits in Mount Justice?"

"How else can you explain the noises at night?"

"You just hear those things because you're not used to it yet. It takes me months to get used to sleeping in different rooms."

"No, I sleep fine," Gemma said. "But the spirits don't. They need rest."

"And what does a photograph of you have to do with rest?"

"They need a memory of me," Gemma said. "I think maybe if I give them a memory of my life, then they'll know I'm not a threat, and they'll trust me enough to tell me what's keeping them from resting in peace."

"You're serious?"

"Yeah. Why? Aren't you?"

Ethan sighed, a smile creeping up on his face. He reached over and picked up a picture.

"This one will probably work," he said, handing it to her and walking away.

The screen went black. It cleared again, and Gemma, Wally, Artemis and Zatanna were sitting in a circle, surrounded by candles, eyes closed. Well—almost all of them. Wally's eyes were wide open, and he was looking around at them each, making sure their eyes were shut, as he slowly forked pineapple chunks into his mouth.

"Are we gonna have to do a blood thing?" Artemis asked, eyes still shut. "Cause I'm not doing a blood thing."

"I don't think we have to do blood things," said Gemma. "Wait—what's a blood thing?"

"Where you cut your hand and bleed a little to appease the spirits," Zatanna answered.

"There are no spirits in Mount Justice," Artemis said. The lights switched off.

"Why did the lights go out?" Wally asked. The rest of them opened their eyes, the eerie glow of the candles the only light in the room.

"It must have been the spirits," Gemma said, her face dead serious. "Artemis, you upset them."

"How?"

"You denied their existence."

"Well, it's the truth. Even if there were people here once, they don't exist anymore."

A gust of wind blew through the room, blowing out the candles. The whole screen was black.

"See? You did it again," said Gemma's voice.

"Someone hit the lights," Zatanna said.

"Whose closest?" asked Artemis' voice.

"I think I am," answered Wally. "Hang on."

Thud. Splash.

"Son of a bitch!" said Wally's voice. "My leg!"

"What the hell did my hand just land in?" asked Artemis. "Is this..._pineapple juice_?"

"Wally!" Gemma squealed. "You upset the spirits by eating in their presence! How could you be so mean?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who denied their existence!" Wally said. "I think I bruised it."

"Oh, you poor _baby_," Artemis said. "I've got pineapple juice in my hair!"

"Oh," said a wispy, unfamiliar voice. "That is a tragedy."

A shriek.

"Wally, you shriek like a bitch," Zatanna said after a beat.

"That wasn't me," Wally said.

"No," said the voice again. "It was my cat here. Forgive her—she is easily insulted. So old fashioned. It's rude to eat without inviting your houseguest to do the same."

Another shriek.

"Turn the lights on _now_!" Artemis screeched.

The lights flickered on to reveal a confused looking Kaldur at the doorway.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Robin was standing in the corner of the room, snickering into a mouth piece.

"Dude!" Wally yelled, tossing an extinguished candle at him. "I spilled my goddamn pineapple and bruised my goddamn leg!"

"That's what you get for doing a stupid séance," Robin said.

Artemis sighed in aggravation.

The screen went black. When it cleared again, Gemma and Amelie were in a field, hands in hands, spinning quickly.

"Look at this," Wally said, appearing at the far corner of the screen. "_I see fields of green, red roses too..._"

"Stop singing or I'll rip your tongue out," Connor said in a deadpan voice as he walked into view. "What are we supposed to be looking for?"

"Who says you have to look for anything?" M'gann asked. "It's a day out. Just _live_."

And it looked like a day out. Gemma and Amelie spun on, the hems of their summer dresses lifting slightly in the wind as they giggled.

"_Les reves des amoureux sont comm le bon vin," _they sang together as they spun._ "Ils donnent de la joie ou bien du chagrin_..."

"I like it here," Robin said, plopping down on the grass and picking a dandelion. "It's pretty. Like a fairy tale or something."

"Robin is right," Kaldur said, watching Amelie and Gemma spin. "It is peaceful here."

"We just do nothing?" Connor asked, leaning against the tree beside Kaldur.

"Dude," Wally said as he bit into a croissant. "Do you know how long it's been since we last did nothing?"

"We're still doing nothing," Connor said.

"Yeah, but we're doing nothing in _Paris_," Robin said. "That doesn't count as doing nothing."

"_L'espoir est un plat bien trop vite consommé a sauter les repas je suis habitué..._" Amelie and Gemma sang on.

When Roy squinted, he saw the side of the metal leg of the Eiffel Tower far off behind them.

"I like it here," Artemis said, lying back. Roy had never seen Artemis in a dress before. Raquel fell back onto the grass beside her.

"My dad and I used to come here when I was little," Zatanna said as she ate from a bowl of strawberries.

"It's heaven," M'gann said. "I never want to leave."

"_Car rien n'est gratuity dans...La vie. Jamais on ne me dira, Que la course aux etoiles; ça n'est pas pour moi..._"

"We should go get lunch soon," Wally said, biting into a raspberry. "I'm getting hungry."

"We should," Robin agreed. "Amelie said she knew a good place."

And they turned at watched Gemma and Amelie. Roy had to confess, watching this scene he wished he could have been a part of, that if there were any moment in his life where he might have been completely at peace, it would have been there, watching them spin around and sing French songs Gemma probably memorized without understanding half the lyrics.

"_Une vie â me cacher et puis libre enfin...Le festin est sur mon chemin_."

They collapsed onto the ground at last, erupting into a fit of giggles. Gemma pointed up at the sky.

"It's so clear," she said.

"You should see it at night," Amelie said.

"I want to. Do you see stars?"

"Not quite, but the Tower lights up sometimes."

"It's the City of Lights, Gem," Wally said. "You won't see stars here. Too much light pollution."

Gemma frowned. "Hm. That's too bad. It would be perfect if we could see stars."

"We could go to the countryside," Amelie said. "My aunt lives in a small town we could visit."

"What kind of small town?" Gemma asked, rolling onto her stomach to see Amelie better.

"A really small kind. You have to take a train to get to the region, and then a three hour car ride to get to the town. She has a berry farm."

"What kinds of berries does she grow?" Gemma asked, propping her elbows up and resting her head onto her chin.

"Strawberries," Amelie said. Gemma sighed, the heel of her ballet flat click-clacking against the toe of her other shoe.

"I'd like to visit a strawberry farm," Gemma said. "Can we visit your aunt sometime?"

"The next free weekend," Amelie said. Gemma smiled, rolling back over onto her back and staring up at the sky.

"I'd like that," she said. "I want to see stars."

"What's so great about stars?" asked Connor.

"Everything!" Gemma said, rolling back onto her stomach and crawling towards Connor. "They're so pretty and so far away. No one can hurt them."

And she collapsed back onto the ground beside Connor. He smiled at her. Her skin was still glittering, Roy noticed. In the sunlight, it was enchanting. Connor played with her hand as they all idly stared around. A young man walked by with a book in his hand. He looked distinctly French, with his unwashed hair and weak beard. His eyes were busily scanning the pages of a book, his inky fingers flipping through the pages aimlessly. A writer, Roy reasoned.

They all watched him pass by, eyes and heads turning as he strolled over to a nearby tree and sat there under the shade.

"It's like the start of a romance novel," Raquel said.

"Romance novels are too long," Artemis said. "I can never finish them."

"Me neither," Zatanna said, getting to her feet. "My versions are much quicker and much simpler." She spared them all an evil glance before she dashed off, a hand planted firmly on her sunhat to keep it from falling off as she hurried towards the boy under the tree.

"Oh, Jesus," Artemis said, rubbing her eyes as she giggled.

"Fortune favors the bold," Raquel said. "I think I'll join her."

"To the stars," Gemma cooed, holding her hands up into the air and playing with her shimmering fingers.

The screen went black. When it cleared again, Connor was holding Robin up with one hand and tossing him into the pool. The resultant splash—more from the force of Connor's throw than anything else—covered the entire screen.

"Dude, you soaked Ricky the Droid!" Wally said, his face covering the lens as he dabbed at the screen with a colored towel.

"Ricky the Droid is largely waterproof," Kaldur said.

"Do you think Waldo might want to play with us?" Gemma asked from her seat on one of the lounge chairs. Her t shirt and shorts were soaked from the splash. She was squeezing the water out of her hair.

"Waldo would not want to play with us," Connor said.

"But no one's asked him," Gemma said. "Kaldur, could you ask him? He might be lonely. Pets get lonely."

"He's a poisonous jellyfish," Roy said to her, wiping water off of his chest with a towel. "No one wants him in the pool."

"Well, is that his fault?" she asked. She got to her feet. "I'm gonna go play with him."

"Do _not_ jump into the tank," Roy said.

"I'm not gonna jump into the tank," she said. "I'm just gonna keep him company."

And she hurried out of the picture.

"You think she'll jump into the tank?" Wally asked.

"Better go check," Roy said, getting to his feet and walking after her.

The screen went black. When it cleared again, Artemis was standing by the shoreline. Roy couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was at first, but Artemis's green dress—the one with pockets—gave it away as Ethan and Meredith's wedding. Snickering could be heard in the background—presumably behind the camera, and then, a moment of silence.

_Snap! _

Artemis shrieked as her little bag erupted into a fit of sparks and smoke. Wild laughter could be heard as Gemma ran into view, wearing a pretty yellow dress with her heels in her hand.

"Was that a _firecracker_?" Artemis asked, alarmed as she tossed her bag into the saltwater. Gemma nodded, bent over and clutching her sides. "You put a firecracker into my _bag_?!"

And Gemma turned tail and ran out of sight as Artemis chased after her. Roy could vaguely remember that evening—Artemis ended up chasing Gemma for nearly a half an hour—all across the shoreline—before she finally gave up.

The screen went black. When it cleared again, Black Canary was seated at the head of a circle in the living room, with the entire team surrounding her.

"We should talk about the future," she was saying. "It's good to talk about the future. Where do you guys see yourselves in...say...five years? We'll start with you, Connor."

"Five years? In five years I'll be seven," Connor said, leaning back in his seat. "I don't know—probably still here. I mean—where else would I be?"

"Well, of course you'd still be here," Black Canary said. "But have you thought about college or a life for your alter ego?"

"This is my life," Connor said. "I'm not thinking about the future until I get to the future."

"Preach it bro," Wally said through a mouthful of Chex mix.

"How about you, Gemma?" Black Canary said, addressing the little ball curled up next to Connor that was disappearing into the cushions. "Any plans for Gemma Stone?"

"I should probably go to college," she said. "To study chemistry. I mean—it's taken over my life anyhow. It'll help me with my powers."

"You already know more than half the professors in the world, Gem," Wally said. She shrugged.

"I'd like to go to college. And after that..." she trailed off.

"After that?" Black Canary urged her to continue. Gemma chewed her lip, thinking hard.

"To the stars," she said with a smile.

Roy got up and walked out of the room, leaving the screen with her smiling face behind.

_(97)_

Right when he saw her in there alone, he knew he was in for it.

"Where's M'gann?" Roy asked as Gemma appeared at the zeta tube.

"We got separated," she said simply.

"You were supposed to stick together," Roy said.

"I know that," she said. For the first time since the day he met her, she didn't have any color in her voice. There was no fear or anxiety or irritation or—and this was the most puzzling—giddiness. She was just...frozen.

"What happened?" Roy asked.

She sighed. It was a tired, world-weary sigh. "We got separated. Ambushed."

"Did you get the chip?"

"No," she said, pulling open the medicine cabinet in the kitchen.

"Why? What went wrong?"

"I just told you," she said evenly. "We got ambushed."

"So you just ditched her there?"

"No. I distracted the goonies while M'gann went to help the others."

"Did they see you get in the zeta tube?"

"I lost them _way_ before I got into the zeta tube," Gemma said, pulling gauze and rubbing alcohol out of the cabinet. It was only then that Roy noticed she was only using her right hand. Her left arm was huddled close to her chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I got hurt," she said simply.

"Let me see it," Roy said, stepping forward and tapping her shoulder. She turned around and lifted her hand for him to see.

Jesus. Her entire wrist was popped loose from the rest of her arm. The bulge between her forearm and hand was concealed only by a thick layer of dried blood oozing from a cut. The blood was slowly changing color—she had been running with this injury for a while.

"It's broken, right?" she asked. He shook his head.

"It's dislocated," he said. "You want to go to the hospital or you want me to pop it back right here?"

"You do it," she said quietly, holding out her hand. "I don't like hospitals."

Roy gripped her waist and sat her down on the countertop.

"Let me get a towel for you to bite on," he said.

"No towel," she said. "Just do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. The towel won't help."

She held her hand up to him again. He took it carefully. He had always been able to tell how...puny she was, but it wasn't until he held her hand in his right that second that it occurred to him how fragile she was. Looking at her flimsy pale hand, holding it between his, Roy couldn't help but think the same thing he'd been thinking for months, since the day he met her, even. This girl was fragile. What the hell was she doing in the field?

"How'd it happen, anyways?" asked Roy.

"I fell on a rock," she said simply.

"You should watch where you're running. Wally makes those mistakes all the time."

"I didn't trip," she said.

"Then how'd you fall?"

"A guy threw me," she answered.

"Did you get him back?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"I made a brick and threw it at his head."

"Good girl," Roy said, placing his thumb and index fingers on either side of the bulge. "Brace yourself."

Gemma bit her lip as Roy pushed the bulge. Her face sank into the fabric of his suit, a few whimpers being muffled until '_pop_'.

A cry out, followed by silence.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"No problem," he said, opening the bottle of rubbing alcohol. "So...what really happened out there?"

"I told you—"

"Gemma," Roy said plainly as he dabbed at her cut. "What _really_ happened?"

She sighed. "There were dead babies _everywhere_," she said, her voice thick. Roy paused.

"What? Where?"

"In the little village," Gemma said, sniffling.

"You didn't radio a village," Roy said.

"Because there was nothing left," Gemma said. "M'gann and I ran into Kaldur, and we told him, but the guys just popped up out of nowhere and we had to run and then we split up."

Roy placed a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of what he hoped she took as comforting, because in truth he didn't really know what else to do.

"They wanted me to hold them," she whispered, wiping a tear that had found its way down her cheek.

"What?"

"Kaldur and M'gann. They wanted to know what had killed the village, so they asked me to go into one of the houses and touch them. So I could know what poisoned them."

"We do need the Intel," Roy said, shrugging.

She nodded. "I know, I know," she said. "I just..." she trailed off, a quiet sob escaping her as she covered her face with her good hand.

Roy couldn't be sure what it was about this that set him off—at least at first. It took about six seconds for him to realize that everything about it set him off. Gemma in tears? Gemma wept from distress all the time. She wept during a Childhood Cancer fundraiser. She wept during _The Notebook_. She wept when other people wept before she even knew the reason. But there in the kitchen, that weeping was different. She was wounded and her hands were cold as icicles and she was shaking all over and it was like Roy was seeing her for the first time. Like a broken little piece of glass—even when it's shattered, people still handle it with care.

"Hey," he said gently, sliding his fingers beneath her chin and raising her head slightly. "This is why we do this job."

She nodded slowly. He pulled the glittery mask off of her face and set it down on the counter beside them. Her face didn't need a mask. He felt bad for Senator Kearney and every other sorry sap that would never get the chance to see her without it.

"This is why we are who we are," Roy told her. "So things like this never happen again."

She sniffled delicately, nodding again. He kept his hand at her chin, waiting for her to look up at him. Slowly, slowly, watery gray eyes met his.

"Okay," she said.

And then she hugged him.

Even as prepared as he thought he'd be, Roy was not prepared for that. She wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and buried her face into his chest, and he felt himself go stiff for a few seconds before he let his own arms slide around her, stroking her hair soothingly.

"It's gonna be okay," he whispered. He didn't like her, he didn't like her, he didn't like her. "You're gonna be okay."

Shallow as a droplet on cracking asphalt. Over appreciated and underworked. Little Miss America.

Still couldn't hit a damn punching bag.

"You're a good person," she whispered as a fresh peal of sobs was muffled by the fabric of his suit.

_He didn't like her, he didn't like her, he didn't like her._

_(422)_

The screen still read two tries left.

Roy huffed in exasperation.

"What's that?" Ollie's voice asked. Roy stuffed the phone into his pocket.

"My worst nightmare," Roy said. "I told you I'm busy."

"And I told you, you're gonna drop dead if you don't eat something," Ollie said. "You had something to tell me."

"Never-mind it," Roy said.

Oh, how badly he had wanted to tell Ollie. How badly he had wanted to tell anyone about what he was finding out. But the risk was too high. Gemma Stone was gone, and all that was left was her memory, and that memory was being blackened with every page of that planner he read, every word Bering had said, every single step she had taken in the past month and a half. And even if he _did_ eventually figure out her password, and if he _did_ eventually find out why she had asked Andrew Bering to alter evidence, and if he _did_ eventually figure out why she was searching for security manufacturers, and if he _did_ eventually sponge this whole mess out of his system, then he could never—_would_ never—tell a soul what he learned, good or bad. Gemma was an angel, forever young, forever beautiful, forever perfect. He had her memory to protect. If not in his own mind, than in the minds of the team, of the League, of everyone who knew her.

"Come on, Roy," Ollie said. "You're killing me. You're killing yourself."

"I'm fine," Roy said stubbornly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Alright, then," Ollie said. "Let's pretend you're fine. When was the last time you ate something that didn't come out of a box?"

Roy sighed exasperatedly.

"When was the last time you ate something, _period_?" Ollie asked.

"This morning," Roy said.

"Beer and cigarettes don't count," Ollie said. "When was the last time you actually slept?"

No answer. Roy only chewed his lip in frustration.

"For God's sake, Roy, you're killing yourself—"

"I can't sleep," Roy said. "I try. I can't. And even when I do, it's this weird half-sleep half-not sleep so I'm tired all the time and I can't feel my fucking arms and my head is always pounding. Happy?"

"No," Ollie said. "Come with me, Roy. Let's go to the Bistro, get you something to eat."

"I don't need to eat!" Roy said. "I'm not hungry!"

"Okay. Okay," Ollie said slowly, hands up in surrender. "You win this one. What do you need, then?"

Roy sighed, this time resigned and feeling the life leave him as his body deflated.

"What's PineCORP?" he asked at last. Ollie's brows furrowed.

"PineCORP?" he repeated. "Why?"

"I was just...I saw something about them on the news. What kind of company are they?"

"Well...they're a military company. The kind that doesn't usually make the news."

"Military?"

"Yeah. Private. Like the kinds owned by the 1% of the 1%. Elitist, you know. They're good with the League. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just...wondering."

"I know that look," Ollie said. "Don't tell me: you have somewhere to be and you can't stay and chat and you'll probably never be seen or heard from again—'again' here meaning three or four weeks—before we find you naked floating face down in the Hudson."

"I'll be fine," Roy said, heading for the door.

Ollie caught his arm. "Look, Roy," he said. "It's okay to talk about it. Or...to _want_ to talk about it."

"Yeah, I know," he said, shrugging his arm loose and walking out the door.

He used to like the feeling of the zeta beams as he travelled. But as he stepped out of the phone booth in Metropolis and slid into the car that he left parked in front of the pizzeria, he only felt numb.

'_PineCORP Int.—records?' _

Roy eyed the words scrawled hastily into a corner over and over again. What would Gemma have wanted with a private military corporation? His first thought was that it had been her security issue. A military corporation would be a good place to start looking for security needs. But then if that was the case, then what records did she want?

Too many questions and not enough answers. It made his stomach churn with distaste, and if he'd actually consumed anything besides coffee, beer and nicotine in the last eight hours, he'd have been inclined to say he was going to be sick with frustration. The sudden ring of his cell phone didn't help.

Roy glared down at the screen. Unknown caller.

"Who is this?" he answered grimly.

"Roy Harper," said a vaguely familiar voice. "I've been hoping for a chance to speak with you. But you've been so busy running all over the East Coast it's been almost impossible to get a hold of you."

"Who is this?" he asked again, resting his forehead onto the steering wheel of his car.

"I thought you'd have recognized my voice by now," said the man, sounding insulted.

"I've had a rough week," Roy said gruffly.

"A rough two weeks, as I understand," said the man. "I'm so sorry about Gemma."

Roy paused. "Who _is_ this?" he asked again, quietly.

"She was up to something, you know," the man said. "Your lady love was up to something big. Bigger than she was—well, a lot of things were bigger than she was—but you know what I mean."

"Who is this?" Roy asked stiffly.

"Her unfortunate death has captured my interest," the voice said.

Roy banged his hand on the wheel. "Dammit, who is this?!" he yelled.

"Simmer down, Roy," the man said. "I'm more than happy to share what I know—if you can do the same."

Roy shut his eyes tightly, praying that any of the cars that was passing by him would suddenly stop working and crash into him, ending him right there and then with no questions asked.

"You know what she was doing?" he asked at last, his voice betraying his exhaustion.

"Bits and pieces. And you have bits and pieces as well. Perhaps we can put them together and see what we'll find."

Roy was silent.

"So we'll talk, yes?"

"No," Roy said. "Not yes. "Not until you tell me who you are?"

"Why don't we talk over lunch, then? There's a pizzeria in Metropolis that you might like. They make the best risotto in the city."

Roy sighed. "I'm not hung—"

"You should still eat," said the voice. "You look like you could use it."

Roy looked around, alarmed. The street was empty—still a long way until the evening rush hour—and only one or two cars passed by idly. A taxi was parked on the curb a few meters ahead of him. The fat driver was by the hot dog stand, requesting extra mustard. A sleek black towncar was parked across the street a little further ahead. The back window was rolled down. A man was holding a phone to his ear, staring right at him. Lex Luthor.

"Let's talk," he said into the phone.

_(134)_

"_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special_..."

Gemma sang at the top of her lungs as she squeezed green icing onto a row of tree shaped cookies. Wally planted a kiss on her cheek, grabbing a decorated cookie as he did. She smiled at him.

"Merry Christmas!" she squealed.

"Keep singing," he told her through a mouthful of cookie, licking frosting off his thumb.

"_Tell me baby, do you recognize me? Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me. Merry Christmas, I wrapped it up and sent it_..."

"Wally, slow down," M'gann said. "You'll spoil your apet—never mind," she said, giggling as he turned to look at her with both cheeks stuffed.

"Stop eating all the cookies!" Gemma said, pulling out candy pearls. "There won't be any left for Connor and Kaldur!"

"These are damn good cookies," Wally said. "Did you put the rest of the pot in them?"

"No," Gemma and M'gann said in unison.

"Some of us don't have to put drugs in our cookies to make them edible," Amelie said.

"My dad used to put pot in brownies," Gemma said as she placed pearls onto the green frosting. Wally coughed up his cookie. "_Last Christmas, I gave you my heart_—"

"What? Seriously?"

"Her Dad's barely thirty," Artemis said as she walked into the kitchen, pulling a red sweater over her head. "I'd have put LSD into the eggnog if I were him."

"Speaking of spiking eggnog," Roy said, tilting his head in the direction of the far back, near the sink, where Raquel was emptying a flask into the pitcher of eggnog.

"Raquel, what is that?" M'gann asked.

"_A crowded room, and friends with tired eyes, I'm hiding from you and your soul of ice..._" Gemma sang on.

"Spiced rum," she said simply, pausing to take a swig. "Got it from New York. Merry Christmas, bitches."

"Merry Christmas indeed," Artemis said, hurrying over and pouring herself a cup. She recoiled after the first sip. "Jesus, Raquel—there's more rum in this eggnog than there is eggnog."

"You think she cares?" Amelie asked. "She's drunk already. Look at her—her blood could run a jumbo-jet."

"I'm not drunk," Raquel said. "Not _that_ drunk, anyways."

"_This year won't be anything like last Christmas_..." Gemma sang, picking up the cookies and carefully arranging them onto an enormous plate so the icing wouldn't smudge.

"I hear Gemma singing," said Kaldur's voice. "Are the festivities already underway?"

"Kaldur!" Gemma squealed excitedly, running over to stand on her tiptoes to hug him. "Happy holidays!"

"And to you," Kaldur said as she tugged him by the arm to the kitchen.

"We're still waiting for Zatanna to haul ass over here," Raquel said.

"Where is she?" asked Kaldur.

"Her room, wrapping the last of her presents," Roy said. "She also said something about '_booking Dave_'—whatever that means."

M'gann, Artemis, Gemma, Raquel and Amelie burst into a fit of giggles, and Roy decided he didn't want to know what the story was.

"Are you sure your parents are okay with you spending Christmas here?" Artemis asked Wally.

He shrugged, popping a chocolate covered hazelnut into his mouth. "I think they're just glad I won't eat everything before they get a chance to," he said. "I don't know why they're so surprised every year."

"You eat that much?" Amelie asked.

"It comes with the territory," Wally explained.

"He processes food faster than we do," M'gann told her.

"Sometimes he thinks faster," Raquel said. "But that's a rare case."

Wally narrowed his eyes at her as Gemma laughed.

"Everything he does is fast?" Amelie asked. "That's so tedious."

Wally blew into his mug of steaming hot chocolate. "Not everything, Frenchie," he said, winking at her. Artemis tossed a marshmallow at his face. It bounced off his nose before landing in his mug. "Thanks, hotshot," he said, taking a sip.

"I love winter," Gemma said, looking out the window. The snow was falling delicately outside. "It's like a fairytale."

"How do they do Christmas in Paris?" Artemis asked Amelie.

Amelie shrugged. "I can't be sure," she said. "I never really celebrated it before."

Gemma gasped. "We have to fix this!" she said.

"Fix what?" asked Connor as he appeared at the doorway.

Gemma hurried over to hug him. "Merry Christmas, Connor!" she said. She paused at the sight of him in his black t-shirt. "Where's your sweater? Didn't you like it?"

"I liked it," Connor said. "It was...soft."

Roy snorted. Every single person in Mount Justice was wearing a variation of red, white and green decorated sweaters—even Red Tornado had allowed her to replace his cape for her sake.

"Was it too big?" she asked. "I knew I was overestimating it. I've got smaller ones in my room. Come on, let's go get you one. We have to look nice for the picture!"

"I—okay," Connor said defeatedly, taking Gemma's out-stretched hand and allowing her to lead him out to the hallway.

"I like these sweaters," Kaldur said, fingering the material of his own. They heard a _thud_ in the living room and glanced over.

"A little help," Robin said, his hand gripping the tip of the Christmas tree. The ladder he had been standing on had tipped over, and he was a clear five or six feet off the ground. Roy watched Kaldur hurry over and prop the ladder back up.

"The tree's looking good," Raquel said.

"Artemis did most of it," Robin admitted as he hung an ornamental angel into a branch. "I'm just topping off."

"It's nice," Wally agreed, chewing on an enormous marshmallow.

"I used to work at Berkeley Mall," Artemis said. "And they always used to make me decorate the biggest tree every Christmas."

"Oh, Connor, you're so _cute_!" Raquel said. Roy turned to look at the doorway and grinned as Connor and Gemma walked into the kitchen. Connor rolled his eyes and Gemma nodded excitedly.

"Where'd you get that headband?" Artemis asked her.

Her face instantly darkened. "Meredith," she said.

"I love that her name is all it took to kill your holiday spirit," Raquel said. Gemma poured herself a glass of eggnog and took the flask from Raquel's hand, emptying the rest of it into her glass before she took a long swig.

"I take it the storm didn't flood the venue?" Kaldur said.

"No, it flooded, alright," she said. "So they switched it."

"Where is it now?" asked Amelie as Wally laughed.

"A timeshare in Nantucket," Gemma said.

"That must be awful," M'gann said. "Having to edit all the invitations like that."

"At least the colors changed," Gemma said.

"Really? No pastel peach anymore?" Artemis asked.

"No. Mere-bitch thinks pastel peach is only good for garden weddings, and since the garden wedding is now a beach wedding, pastel peach won't be nice."

"So what's the new color?" asked Raquel.

"Yellow. Pale candle yellow."

"Like cheesecake?" Wally asked, stuffing a forkful of cheesecake into his mouth.

"Like custard," Gemma said as she pulled a bowl of custard out of the fridge and tossed strawberries on top of it.

"Custard is nice," said Robin as he stole a strawberry.

"Go decorate the tree," Artemis said.

"Make this a diamond," Robin said, holding up a large gold star figurine. Gemma took it into her hands and squeezed it tightly for a moment before handing it back to him. The Christmas tree was sparkling with Gemma's alterations to the ornaments. Robin dashed back to the tree to put the star on top.

"Move that light up there to the left," Gemma said.

"Why?" asked Robin.

"So it catches the star," she said. "Only a little."

Robin reached up and stretched what Roy certainly hoped wasn't his farthest because in truth it wasn't very far.

"A little help here," Robin said. Kaldur walked over calmly and allowed Robin to stand on his shoulders.

"Take a picture fast," Raquel whispered to Amelie, who had pulled out her iPad and held it up. They giggled at the picture.

"A little higher," Robin said. Kaldur eyed him skeptically, a brow raised. "Alright, fine," Robin said, stretching farther until the tips of his fingers touched the wall light. He pushed it slowly, until it hit the star. The star glowed brightly, a rainbow of color reflected all over the living room.

"It's so pretty," M'gann said.

"_Dio mio_," said an exasperated voice. Roy looked to the doorway, where Zatanna was carrying a stack of carefully wrapped boxes. "I'm officially _off_ procrastination."

"You know you could have just taken them to Macy's with me last week," Raquel said. "I let them do all the wrapping for me."

"I—you—go straight to hell," Zatanna said as she walked over to the tree and added her boxes to the pile underneath it. "This tree is so pretty."

"Robin and Artemis," Roy said.

"Did you get Dave?" Gemma asked.

"Course I did," Zatanna said.

"Can't you smell his cologne?" Raquel asked. Artemis and Amelie snorted. M'gann giggled into her eggnog. Zatanna rolled her eyes.

"Who's Dave?" asked Wally.

"A secret," Zatanna said.

"_You girls are awesome_," Artemis said in a deep voice that was clearly an imitation. Roy stared on confusedly as the girls burst into a fit of laughter. Connor scratched his head.

"Can we stay whelmed here?" Robin asked. "Where's Red Tornado?"

"Getting his presents from the garage," Wally said.

"Why are his presents in the garage?" Connor asked.

"He knew Wally would try to open them," M'gann said.

"As if hiding them in the garage would have stopped me," Wally said, chewing on cranberries.

"Clearly, it did," said Red Tornado as he appeared at the doorway with arm full of gifts.

"Nice cape," Robin said.

"Thank you," Red Tornado said as he carefully placed his boxes under the tree. "It is one of The Alchemist's selections. I am told it is festive."

"When do we get to open the presents?" Robin asked impatiently.

"At midnight," Gemma said.

"When is midnight?" Robin asked.

"About five minutes," Raquel said, hiccupping.

"_Now_ she's drunk," Artemis said.

"Gimme some of that," Zatanna said, hurrying over and pouring eggnog into an enormous glass.

"_Deck the halls with joy and holly, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la_," Raquel sang.

"Your phone is buzzing, Gemma," Amelie said, picking Gemma's Blackberry up from the counter before the buzzing could make it fall off the edge. Gemma reached for it and held it to her ear.

"_Tis the season to be jolly fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la_," Gemma sang into the phone. "Gemma's phone, this is Gemma. Hi, Dad! Yeah. They're all here. Dad says happy holidays!" she said to the room at large, to which a chorus of '_hi, Ethan_'s, '_happy holidays_'s, and '_merry christmas_'s echoed. "Did you get my present?"

"Four minutes to midnight," Robin said, rubbing his hands together.

"I saw you looking all sneaky when you were wrapping Zatanna's present," Connor said quietly to Wally. "What did you get her?"

"Let's just say she'll have a really good idea when she opens it," Wally said, biting into a red frosted cupcake.

"A good idea?" Roy repeated.

"Yep. Some might call it a flash of genius," Wally said.

"I'm scared to ask any more," Kaldur said nervously.

"Three minutes to midnight!" Robin said.

"What FedEx?" Gemma was asking into the phone. "Um...hang on. Hey, guys, did anything come for me through FedEx?"

"Yeah," said M'gann. "An hour ago. I put it under the tree."

"Yeah, it's here," Gemma said somewhat bitterly. "Thank her for me, will you?"

"Uh oh," Zatanna said quietly to Roy. "A present from Meredith."

"A whole bunch of presents from Meredith," Amelie said, gesturing to the tree. "She sent a box for each of us."

"Did Gem get her anything?" Raquel asked.

"Yeah. You know Gemma," Amelie said. "She can't hate you to your face. She doesn't know how."

"What did she get her?"

"A dress," Amelie said. "I went to Barney's and picked it out with her," and then Amelie laughed. "It made no sense to me why Gemma had insisted the dress be yellow. But now I get it."

"Merry Christmas," Gemma said into the phone. "I love you, too. Byes."

"Have you ever spent Christmas without him?" Artemis asked.

"Every other year," Gemma said. "I alternate between parents."

"So you've seen a Parisian Christmas?" Wally asked.

"My step-dad doesn't do Christmas," Gemma said. "He's Jewish. But my mom always did. She tries to get me to fast Yom Kippur with them, but I swear I could never."

"Two minutes," Robin said, staring at the clock on the microwave.

"Willing time to go faster will not make it so, Robin," Kaldur said, accepting a cookie from the plate Gemma extended to him.

"Says who?" Robin asked. "If you give Wally enough coffee, he can vibrate his molecules through a _wall_. Tell me I can't make time go faster..." and he mumbled on, staring at the clock, the glowing numbers reflected in the black lenses of his glasses.

"Where's Ricky the Droid?" asked Artemis.

"Right there," Gemma said, pointing to the corner. Ricky the Droid was fixing the settings on his camera.

"Are those cake pops?" Wally asked, gesturing to the little green pale on the counter by the microwave.

"I made them this morning," Gemma said. Wally was already beside Robin, biting into one and swooning.

"One minute," Robin said.

"I saw a mistletoe in the guest bathroom," Zatanna said.

"Kaldur," Artemis said plainly. "He's still getting this whole thing."

"No, but it was actually pretty convenient because Dave was in there with me," Zatanna said.

"Who is Dave?" Wally asked again.

"None of your damn business, boy," Raquel said.

"Was I wrong to put mistletoe there?" Kaldur asked.

"You generally put it in places people might run into each other," Gemma explained. "Like a hallway or a foyer or right there," she pointed at the space above Roy's head, where mistletoe was hanging.

"Dibs!" Zatanna said, lunging forward.

"Oh, _hell_ no!" Raquel said. "_Hell, no_!"

"Oh my God," Artemis said as Roy backed up to the countertop.

"Easy," he said. "One at a time."

Since Zatanna called dibs, she got the first turn. Roy couldn't say he didn't enjoy it—italiano love—and though he'd never tell a soul, he got tongue from Raquel. Granted—that tongue almost got him drunk with all the rum she'd had in the past ten minutes. Next came Artemis, and Wally counted the seconds before he decided to loudly point out that she loved cake pops, and he was holding a bucket of them in his hand. M'gann gave him a tiny peck, so friendly that even Connor didn't blink. Amelie wasn't suggestive, either. But she was French, in the end.

"Viva la France," Zatanna said as Amelie giggled, returning to her place by the stove. Gemma leaned over and planted a kiss on Roy's cheek. Roy felt his face flush. The spot where her lips touched his skin felt cool and detached from his face.

"We only do tongue on this mountain," Zatanna said, crossing her arms.

"Alright, then," Gemma said, and she reached forward again and licked the side of his face.

"Oh, my God, tell me you got that!" Zatanna said to Ricky the Droid.

"I did," Connor said, holding up his iPhone.

"You know, you don't all have to kiss him," Wally said. "The rules are only whoever's with him under the mistletoe. And no one was with him. So no one had to kiss him."

"Who cares?" Zatanna said. "In my books, everyone gets kissed."

"Besides, we wanted to," Raquel said.

"So would you kiss me?" Wally asked.

"I would," Zatanna said.

Wally whooped and leaned forward to claim his reward. "Tiramisu will do nicely," he said. Zatanna rolled her eyes and leaned forward to meet his face.

"MIDNIGHT!" Robin said with a shrill, scary shriek that in all honesty sounded like Alvin and the Chipmunks. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, BITCHES!"

"Oh," Zatanna said, turning away from Wally's face and hurrying to the tree. "Finally."

"What? No! Tiramisu!" Wally lamented, following her to the tree. Gemma laughed, picking up the plate of cookies and waltzing off after them.

A haze of ripping wrapping paper, eggnog, cookies and wildly excited shrieks later, they collapsed onto the couches, either half drunk or half stuffed or both.

"So this is Christmas," Red Tornado said. "It is...nice."

Gemma's head came to rest on Roy's shoulder. He inhaled the scent of pear shampoo from her hair.

Roy wouldn't say it, but he rather agreed with Red Tornado.


End file.
